Fathers Day Blog
Fathers Day Blog
Welcome to Bogworld. And thank you for being patient while I took a little breather from the website. Let me explain what’s going on. I have my regular job with a really great technology company. I have a part time job on the weekends running an IMAX projector at one of the coolest theaters around. I recently took on the challenge of a corporate pilot program for the technology company so I have been working extra hours developing presentations and strategies to get that off the ground. This past week this same company launched an exciting new version of its most popular product. My father is recovering from a severe stroke and my family is dealing with the surrounding challenges that presents. I have a popular cartoon website and blog. Oh and I have a book deal and I am working on a novel.
Now do you get an idea why I took a little break from the website?
Well I am back. Things are still terribly hectic and I cannot guarantee there is going to be a fresh cartoon every day for the next month or so. But please know I am trying my best. Bogworld is my pressure valve. I love this site and I will update it whenever I can.
Fathers Day
As you might imagine its a bitter sweet Father’s Day for me. I feel very fortunate that my Dad is still around but I also feel a little robbed because I don’t have my whole Dad back. Dad cannot speak to me anymore. The stroke and an unfortunate accident afterwards has robbed him of his ability to speak or even share a regular meal with us. But I have my memories. Dad might not be able to express himself but I know more than ever that he loves me and I am pretty sure he knows more than ever that I love him.
Let me tell you a few things about my Dad. He was an avid fisherman and I was his fishing partner. We used to call it “going for a boat ride” instead of “fishing” because that way no one would be counting on us to actually bring home fish.
When I was in my 20s, married, and well into my adult life. I would have Dad come out in the back yard with me to work on my throwing arm. I was involved in city league co-ed adult softball leagues and somewhere along the line injured my shoulder. Well into a good game of catch my shoulder twinged and I ended up throwing the softball right through a window in my parents house. Dad just laughed. I think he was a little surprised that with three kids (me being the youngest) it took this long for one of us to break a window.
Dad used to be a boxer in the Navy. He was legendary around town for being a tough guy in his younger years. No trip to the Miller Hill Mall was quite complete until we would run into an old acquaintance who would tell the story. “Did your dad ever tell you how he once knocked a cop on his ass in a fight?” Dad loves to show his affection for you by punching you in the arm. He thinks its funny but it actually really hurt most of the time. Even when he got older. These days one of my favorite interactions with my Dad is how he will squeeze my hand until it hurts or he’ll engage me in a tug of war sort of arm wrestling thing just to show me he’s still that tough guy I always knew and always loved. I’ll never forget back when I was a teenager. Dad was trying to give me some pointers on how to box and I accidently popped him in the nose. There was blood and his eyes watered up. I felt like crap for hurting my dad but he just seemed proud that his son got a good shot in.
When I was a kid I played peewee hockey. It was a C class team. Frankly we were a rag tag team that barely had any reason for existing. We had players who had ankles too weak for skates. I was an ok player. Certainly nothing special. I cannot imagine watching any of these games was a treat for any parent. We played outdoors in miserable weather. And when we played indoors at the Frankenberg Arena it was even more painful for spectators. The arena somehow seemed to magnify the cold ten fold. If it was 10 degrees outside it would feel like 30 below zero in this arena. But for two seasons, Dad never missed a game.
When I was a little kid, Dad would take the whole family on weekend fishing expeditions. We had a little aluminum boat with wooden bench seats. Guaranteed splinters. Having five people all trying to fish out of one small boat is a logistical nightmare. All those tangled lines and all those hooks to bait. But we somehow managed. Mom would always pack a nice picnic lunch and sometime in the afternoon Dad would seek out an island. We would tie the boat to a stump on shore and try to find a little clearing where we could spread out a blanket for lunch. Usually Dad would fish off of shore. His only chance to get some tangle free fishing away from us kids. On one particular summer day this was the scene. Dad was casting off the shore. Mom was setting up the picnic lunch. We kids discovered this particular island had wild strawberries growing on it. So we spread out gathering berries. I found a nice patch mixed in amongst some sun flowers. I then noticed there were hornets on many of these sun flowers. Afraid I might get stung I carefully backed up away from the hornets on the flowers. Not seeing that I was backing towards a log... a log that had a whole nest of hornets in it. I tripped backwards over the nest and was immediately set upon by a swarm of angry hornets. I remember getting stung. A lot. I felt them landing on my face and stinging. I instinctively covered my face with my hands. The hornets started stinging my hands again and again. I could not see. I could not move. And the onslaught was not going to stop considering I was still draped over the log where the nest was. I am sure I was screaming hysterically. I can still recall the pain. Sting after sting after sting. Along came my Dad. I remember his strong arms grabbing my shoulders and yanking me up and away from the nest. I remember him lifting me up into his arms like I was an oversized football. Running like a pro football halfback through the trees. Jumping over stumps and logs. Getting me to the shore on the other side of the island. The hornets were still stinging me. So he wrapped himself around me to shield me. He swatted the last few hornets away.
I remember going through my divorce much later in life. A big disappointment in a Catholic family like mine. In some ways it really alienated me from my family. It was a very painful time in my life. Dad saw past that and once in a while I would get an envelop in the mail with a really poorly scribbled address on it. There would be a few twenty dollar bills and a note, usually in pencil, scratched onto a torn corner piece of paper that simply read, “Don’t tell your mom.”
I’ve got a million stories like this. I’ve got a lifetime of reasons to love my Dad. Maybe now when he’s struggling from the stroke and old age I finally have the chance to truly appreciate the great man that he always has been.
I love you Dad. Happy Father’s Day.
Now do you get an idea why I took a little break from the website?
Well I am back. Things are still terribly hectic and I cannot guarantee there is going to be a fresh cartoon every day for the next month or so. But please know I am trying my best. Bogworld is my pressure valve. I love this site and I will update it whenever I can.
Fathers Day
As you might imagine its a bitter sweet Father’s Day for me. I feel very fortunate that my Dad is still around but I also feel a little robbed because I don’t have my whole Dad back. Dad cannot speak to me anymore. The stroke and an unfortunate accident afterwards has robbed him of his ability to speak or even share a regular meal with us. But I have my memories. Dad might not be able to express himself but I know more than ever that he loves me and I am pretty sure he knows more than ever that I love him.
Let me tell you a few things about my Dad. He was an avid fisherman and I was his fishing partner. We used to call it “going for a boat ride” instead of “fishing” because that way no one would be counting on us to actually bring home fish.
When I was in my 20s, married, and well into my adult life. I would have Dad come out in the back yard with me to work on my throwing arm. I was involved in city league co-ed adult softball leagues and somewhere along the line injured my shoulder. Well into a good game of catch my shoulder twinged and I ended up throwing the softball right through a window in my parents house. Dad just laughed. I think he was a little surprised that with three kids (me being the youngest) it took this long for one of us to break a window.
Dad used to be a boxer in the Navy. He was legendary around town for being a tough guy in his younger years. No trip to the Miller Hill Mall was quite complete until we would run into an old acquaintance who would tell the story. “Did your dad ever tell you how he once knocked a cop on his ass in a fight?” Dad loves to show his affection for you by punching you in the arm. He thinks its funny but it actually really hurt most of the time. Even when he got older. These days one of my favorite interactions with my Dad is how he will squeeze my hand until it hurts or he’ll engage me in a tug of war sort of arm wrestling thing just to show me he’s still that tough guy I always knew and always loved. I’ll never forget back when I was a teenager. Dad was trying to give me some pointers on how to box and I accidently popped him in the nose. There was blood and his eyes watered up. I felt like crap for hurting my dad but he just seemed proud that his son got a good shot in.
When I was a kid I played peewee hockey. It was a C class team. Frankly we were a rag tag team that barely had any reason for existing. We had players who had ankles too weak for skates. I was an ok player. Certainly nothing special. I cannot imagine watching any of these games was a treat for any parent. We played outdoors in miserable weather. And when we played indoors at the Frankenberg Arena it was even more painful for spectators. The arena somehow seemed to magnify the cold ten fold. If it was 10 degrees outside it would feel like 30 below zero in this arena. But for two seasons, Dad never missed a game.
When I was a little kid, Dad would take the whole family on weekend fishing expeditions. We had a little aluminum boat with wooden bench seats. Guaranteed splinters. Having five people all trying to fish out of one small boat is a logistical nightmare. All those tangled lines and all those hooks to bait. But we somehow managed. Mom would always pack a nice picnic lunch and sometime in the afternoon Dad would seek out an island. We would tie the boat to a stump on shore and try to find a little clearing where we could spread out a blanket for lunch. Usually Dad would fish off of shore. His only chance to get some tangle free fishing away from us kids. On one particular summer day this was the scene. Dad was casting off the shore. Mom was setting up the picnic lunch. We kids discovered this particular island had wild strawberries growing on it. So we spread out gathering berries. I found a nice patch mixed in amongst some sun flowers. I then noticed there were hornets on many of these sun flowers. Afraid I might get stung I carefully backed up away from the hornets on the flowers. Not seeing that I was backing towards a log... a log that had a whole nest of hornets in it. I tripped backwards over the nest and was immediately set upon by a swarm of angry hornets. I remember getting stung. A lot. I felt them landing on my face and stinging. I instinctively covered my face with my hands. The hornets started stinging my hands again and again. I could not see. I could not move. And the onslaught was not going to stop considering I was still draped over the log where the nest was. I am sure I was screaming hysterically. I can still recall the pain. Sting after sting after sting. Along came my Dad. I remember his strong arms grabbing my shoulders and yanking me up and away from the nest. I remember him lifting me up into his arms like I was an oversized football. Running like a pro football halfback through the trees. Jumping over stumps and logs. Getting me to the shore on the other side of the island. The hornets were still stinging me. So he wrapped himself around me to shield me. He swatted the last few hornets away.
I remember going through my divorce much later in life. A big disappointment in a Catholic family like mine. In some ways it really alienated me from my family. It was a very painful time in my life. Dad saw past that and once in a while I would get an envelop in the mail with a really poorly scribbled address on it. There would be a few twenty dollar bills and a note, usually in pencil, scratched onto a torn corner piece of paper that simply read, “Don’t tell your mom.”
I’ve got a million stories like this. I’ve got a lifetime of reasons to love my Dad. Maybe now when he’s struggling from the stroke and old age I finally have the chance to truly appreciate the great man that he always has been.
I love you Dad. Happy Father’s Day.
Fathers Day
Category: Bog Blog
Posted by: joe
Visitor Comments
- Stacey Becklund -
June 22, 2009, 7:07 am
Add A CommentWow Joe,
Your Dad sounds like a strong, lovely man. I can empathize with the the pain and loss you must already feel, but trust that he knows you're always there with him as you hold his hand and breath or whisper in his ear. I believe it is the culmination of our experiences in life that make us the truly amazing people we are today. Those memories and stories are carried in our hearts and the ether forever.
My favorite person was my Grandpa Howie, he taught me how to give and find love in a family comprised mostly of anger, pain and chaos. As an avid sportsman he suffered a hearing loss, by any means, I am not at all trying to compare it to a stroke; however it was difficult for him in conversation with most as a result. I never experienced this with him. All I had to do was be quiet and whisper to him. He could decipher what I said amongst all the other droning faraway voices. We could just sit, and be, and communicate, love.
We had an unspoken tacit agreement that when he passed he would find a way to let me know no matter where I was in the world, because back then I was usually gone traveling, just to try and get away... from me. The day he passed, I was living on Kodiak Island. As the Director of the Baranov Museum, I was at the last minute writing my speech for the Annual Meeting. It was expected to be the biggest turnout they'd ever had for the Kodiak Historical Society, you see we had made International news with the discovery a Russian ship from 1767 found off the coast of North America... it was a first of it's kind in marine archeology!
I was typing away at the computer on the second floor of the museum, an historic house built in circa 1808, that was believed to be haunted. As I tapped at the keys there was another tap, tapping. I stopped and the "other" tapping continued. I thought, "Oh Shit, it's true the museum is haunted." I didn't want to be the one that had the experience with some damn ghost. I rose to investigate the source of tapping, sheepishly looking in the other room. There was a raven at the window tapping and tapping I walked over closer to look at it, and well, to shoo it away. It wouldn't budge and it just stared at me squawking away. I was pissed and perplexed at the same time, then I looked at the clock, shit 3:00 pm. I'd only a few hours to get ready for the meeting so I finished up and left for home. When I got home the phone rang and I contemplated for a moment not answering it, but was compelled to do so... it was Stella, my stepgrandmother telling me that my Grandpa had just passed away at 6 pm, MN time, 3 hours later than Kodiak time.
I don't know why I am telling you this except for the fact that I awoke this morning thinking about my Grandpa, his manjo (no joke his mandolin/banjo that he used to play) then I read your blog about Father's Day and your blog touched my heart.
Peace, Joe.
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