The Laughing Wolf

A Christmas Memory Of Dad

I really thought I had already written about this, but a quick search shows that I am mistaken. Watching the craziness that was the main shopping areas of town yesterday reminded me of what is now a treasured memory of Dad.

The story began many years ago, when my Mom had first been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Working with a fantastic oncologist, she was on an aggressive treatment regime that had only one drawback as far as she was concerned that Thanksgiving: she could not go out. No crowds, no sick people even if family, etc.

Dad and I were equally horrified, because it quickly became clear that we were going to pay the price. We had to go to the Mall in her stead, on the day after Thanksgiving, to shop. Now, I shop a bit and don’t have the complete aversion that many guys do, but I got the distinct impression that Dad would much rather have been back in the Pacific in 1943 than go to the mall. I could not blame him, and was not terribly reassuring with my intel reports from previous visits on the day after Thanksgiving. Therefore, we did indeed go, with all the vigor and willingness of two being sent their doom.

My way of dealing with things was to observe Dad, and I was much amused. I tried not to let it show, but he knew it and it probably did not help his outlook. This was a man who had survived many things, seen many tragedies, shot down the Japanese plane that would have otherwise killed one of his older brothers, survived having my Aunt Joan drive the car such that one set of wheels went up a wall and only stop when the car was at an interesting angle, and did all of this without loosing his composure or displaying the slightest bit of fear. The man was terrified of going to the mall that day.

I was fascinated, so I observed. Dad’s revenge was making me take point, on the grounds that I knew where everything was located. We went our way, following carefully the list we had. Our goal: get the stuff on the list, or proof it wasn’t there, and get out as quickly as possible. The latter being rather urgent in Dad’s mind.

Now, I should say that at this time Dad was 75 or so. He was not frail, for he worked hard all his life, but he was not a young man either. Dad had also been raised old school, where manners and behavior were things to be treasured and done by good people. The behavior of the shoppers truly horrified him, and confirmed many of his thoughts about the modern world.

Push came to shove almost literally in a store. We were following up on an item and Dad was closing in when it happened. Dad had been trying to be a true gentleman as much as possible, but was starting to loose his patience with those who were not. He snapped when a lady in the 40-50 range, somewhat stout, decided she wanted where Dad was. I am still not sure if she wanted what Dad had or not, but it didn’t matter: she charged like a rhino.

At that moment, I saw a much younger man return. In a split second I saw several things flash over Dad’s face, and a decision made. This 75-year-old man suddenly regressed to the Marine of 1943, to the football player of the 1920s and 30s, to the man who would force the world to live on his terms. He stood his ground and the rhino hit.

She bounced.

The woman was amazed, then mad. How dare he stand his ground and not give her what she wanted. How dare he! She started to puff up, and Dad just sort of did his head towards her in slight thrust I remembered from early childhood. It was the move of a parent who is saying, non verbally, “Do you want a spanking?”

The mannerless rhino folded. She went away in defeat, with her tail between her legs. Dad stayed tall and proud the rest of the time we were there. There was a light in his eyes that dared anyone to try anything. He opened doors, he stood aside, he did all the mannerly things that are the hallmark of a true gentleman. He also made it clear that civility would be observed around him.

We left, heads high, and made it home. We had survived, and Dad had taught a valuable lesson to me. A reminder actually, that manners and civility do not mean being a doormat. It means not merely following the rules and doing right, but insisting that others do so as well.

Just a Christmas memory that brought a smile to my face, and a reminder of a lesson that should not be forgotten.

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