To say that my dad was straight is not to say that he was always boring, even though he was much of the time. On occasion, however, his straightness could be somewhat amusing, and in one instance that comes to mind it provided real entertainment.
The boring part, we evidenced on a daily basis. Dad had established, early in his married life, what some might refer to as a routine, except that with dad it was more akin to a religion. I don’t mean the church-going kind, although going to church was definitely a part of it. Dad, and mom to her great distress having been baptized Catholic, were members of and attended religiously (pardon the pun) the First Congregational Church of Essex Junction, Vermont. Not that there was a Second Congregational Church, but there was a Methodist Church, and even a Catholic Church, both of which were politely tolerated, but never attended; except on the third Thursday of each month, when the Masons met at the Methodist Church, but never in the sanctuary, except sometimes when the activity hall was otherwise occupied, but never in a religious context, except when sacred rites were being performed, which were highly religious, but definitely not Methodist religious…probably.
In any case, dad had a routine which he followed religiously most of his adult life. Not to bore you with the details, suffice it to say it included such rituals as the daily rotation of the suits, and shoes, and socks (always white), and fortunately, underwear. Weekends excluded, it included leaving for work at precisely 7:35 am each morning and returning at precisely 5:35 pm each evening. It included reading the paper for precisely 25 minutes, followed by dinner at precisely 6:00 pm. Approximately one hour of relaxation followed dinner which could include television, rarely, Reader’s Digest Condensed Books, occasionally, or National Geographic Magazine, regularly. He subscribed, by the way, in 1937, and maintained his subscription until he passed away in 2002, generously leaving all 780 issues, plus enclosed maps and attached supplements, to me.
On the weekends, however, routines went out the windows, except for the washing thereof. Of course, the lawn always got mowed, the garden tended, the car washed, the shoes shined (but that’s another story), and the trash taken to the dump. But after that, anything went; unless of course there was a sports event on television, or a repeat of a sports event, or the highlights of a sports event, or a televised discussion of a sports event. Otherwise anything went. Anything, it turned out, was usually an endless trip to visit the grandparents. Dad’s folks only lived about 40 miles away, but dad figured out the he could save nearly six-tenths of a mile on the trip if he avoided all paved roads and drove only on back roads and abandoned hiking trails. Fortunately, mom always packed a picnic lunch to be eaten about two hours into the expedition.
Part of dad being straight was that he was also very frugal. With the exception of abundant, if not gourmet, food, we never had a lot of material things, at least not new material things. Hand-me-downs and rummage sale items supplied our everyday needs and often arrived as birthday or Christmas gifts (but that’s another story). Of course the abundant food was never to be wasted or discarded (the starving children in China were mentioned often) and, for better or worse, we never went hungry.
So one day, with this in mind and with the rare opportunity for a little humor at dad’s expense, I didn’t hesitate when the idea hit me to replace the “sweet creamy filling” of an Oreo cookie with a white plastic poker chip (it was exactly the correct diameter) and leave it conspicuously on the table next to dad’s TV chair. Everyone was in on it except dad, and so when he finally noticed the errant cookie, glancing briefly away from a Geographic article featuring, no doubt, bare-breasted women from Borneo, and prepared to bite down, we all could barely contain ourselves. Dad bit, seemed perplexed, bit again, seemed more perplexed, and bit again. Finally it dawned on him that something might not be quite right. Five children and a wife rolling on the floor in stitches might have been a clue. He took it well, but I think he was a little hurt that mom seemed to be enjoying herself so much.
01/28/12
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