1954 • San Francisco ~ I loved visiting my dad. We played Old Maid and gin rummy. He sang Three Little Fishies or German songs he remembered from his childhood, told me corny riddles, recited limericks, and magically pulled quarters from behind my ear. I even liked playing Five Little Piggies, though I was a little old for baby stuff. He made me giggle. He gave me butterfly kisses by fluttering his eyelashes on my cheeks. And he did this thing with his lip: just as I turned my head to look away, he’d touch his lower lip to the tip of his nose, which is impossible unless you have an under-slung jaw and a Clemens’ nose like my dad. Or he’d click his bottom dentures out of his lower jaw and catch them with his tongue the split second before they flew away. Laughing, with both hands clapping, I’d beg him to do it again because I barely caught it out of the corner of my eye the first time.
When Dad came to pick me up at Mom’s, we’d visit Larry and have picnics on the college campus, my father lying on the grass next to me and letting me wear his hat, telling me stories, tickling me and making me laugh.
When I came down with a cold, he rubbed my chest with Vicks and put some up my nose, which I hated because it burned clear to my brain. Bringing me a hot bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, a warm bottle of Squirt, and two pieces of Aspergum, he sat next to me on the bed, tucked me in and stroked my hair.
“The only time my mother sang to me or stroked my forehead,” he told me, “was when I was sick.”
I could tell it still hurt his feelings because he had tears in his eyes. It hurt my feelings for him, too. As he kissed my brow and patted my shoulder, he whispered good night, and turned out the light. In the dark I said two extra prayers for him, and pondered why his mother didn’t love him either.
After Mass on Sundays we walked hand-in-hand through the big glass Arboretum and the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. We roamed Fishermen’s Wharf and had shrimp Louie with a hunk of sourdough. We slowly strolled by store windows filled with souvenir tee shirts, Japanese tea sets, and lacquered Chinese boxes. We went to Fleishhacker Zoo and watched the monkeys on Monkey Island and fed the seals three smelly pieces of mackerel from a little white wax paper bag that cost a quarter. We ate pink popcorn and hot dogs with mustard and got vanilla ice cream cups with a quarter-moon of raspberry sherbet. I saved my wooden ice cream paddle; I liked to chew on it.
We rode the carousel, sprinting for our seats as the lights flashed, bells chimed, and music blared. I preferred the ostriches, their backs weren’t so high off the ground. When I grew more confident I rode the horse. I was too small for the ring grab, with its high iron rings the size of half dollars just beyond my reach. If you snagged a brass one, you got a free ride, but your horse had to be at the top of its ride to be able to reach it. Dad rode on one with me, stretching me sideways, and hooking his finger over mine. We stretched out as far as we could and snatched it together as our horse flew by. Even though you were supposed to turn them back in, I kept one as a souvenir. I still have it.
We also went to the movies, getting to see Snow White and Bambi. I unfailingly cried; I doubt that I ever recovered when Bambi’s mother died, and Dumbo nearly destroyed me.
to be continued…
© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
All rights reserved.
Susan Dalberg says
Dad stories always make me smile. Loved yours!!! I adored my father! How he tolerated my mother, I’ll never figure out, but he did. I remember one “pretend” mild tap on the butt from him when I was about four. From that point in my life, his form of punishment was telling me “I’m so disappointed in you,” which broke my heart. Miss you Daddy!!!
Gail says
Thank goodness for your dad. My brothers and I have often said, ‘At least we had our dad’. While we did have both parents present with no particular outward serious issues going on, dad was the more emotionally nurturing one. Well, he did have a nervous break down and had to have shock treatments in 1953. However not a trace of any associated problems after that. He said that after the treatments he decided he was ok and was going to stay that way. Our mother was cold, uppity and didn’t get along with women. Interesting due to the fact that she had four sisters. Side note: 2 people that I knew personally had good outcomes with the shock treatments. I think the treatments are back in use again after a long hiatus.
Catherine Sevenau says
I think you and I were separated at birth. However, I think my mom may have had one too many of them. That would be shock treatments and kids…
Louise says
So thankful you had your Dad. Lots of wonderful memories for you, he brought stability into your life
Shawnda Hansen says
How wonderful! I only remember going to the bowling alley and arcade on my every-other-Saturday with my father. I would have preferred a museum or Broadway show but those weren’t options in Arlington, Texas.
Janet Sasaki says
Always feel bittersweet while reading your chapters. Always reminding me of my life at this same time period. It is interesting that parents in their 20’s routinely got dentures, as mine did.
Barbara Jacobsen says
What delightful memories! And what a wonderful antidote these outings must have been to the challenging life with your mom. I’m glad your dad still knew how to play, even after his troubling times when your family broke up. I have great memories of all those places too, and remember being carried out of the theater crying when Bambi’s mother died. I’ll tell you my Dumbo story sometime. I played Snow White in our Knightsen Grammar School graduation play. It was a 2-room school way out in the sticks. Me and the farm worker kids. Thanks for the great photos illustrating your sweet moments with your dad.
Catherine Sevenau says
OMG, I forgot about Dumbo. We should be in therapy for that one…
Linda Troolin says
I only saw my dad on week ends and we rarely did anything together. I love that you have so many fond memories of your dad and spent time with him.
Catherine Sevenau says
Me too, he certainly provided a balance in my life.