And so's your old man...
The winning stories in our Memories of Dad contest are below. But just because the contest is over doesn't mean the stories should, too. If you have a good story about your Dad, please share it with everyone in our "Stories about Dad" discussion area.
All of the men, except for my father were furious, They threw away their mangled cigars, and yelled at the children. However, my dad just laughed at the prank, relit his cigar, and continued smoking contentedly.
All the other children were envious. They all wished that they had a dad like
mine. I'll never forget how proud I was of him that day.
During the entire episode my father never uttered a word. The whole time I was thinking please hit me, yell at me, anything, just get it over.
Silence was by far the worst punishment there is. And after over 35 years I still remember it well. My father is still alive and doing fine. When I remind him of that incident he laughs and says he was so angry with me for making my mother get out of bed and drive to pick me up that he was afraid he would do something he might regret and therefore didn't say anything.
by Kathleen Meaney Stobie
Covering books. My dad did it for us... and did it well. We three kids--I was the middle one--went to St. Francis of Assisi Catholic School in Brooklyn, NY. The nuns required all textbooks to be covered... and generally it happened that all the books were due immediately, if not sooner.
Covering books was Dad's job. So, he would come home late from doing overtime at the telephone company. (In those days, when you said telephone company, it meant Ma Bell.) There, on the kitchen table would be a mountain of textbooks waiting for Dad's magic touch.
Using the A&P brown bags, he would cover them all-- nice and tight and taped and ready to face the school year. No matter how many books and how late the hour, Dad never complained about it.
Well, Dad became "Papa" when we grew up and had our own kids. And dear Papa passed away peacefully in his sleep two years ago at the grand age of 80. But whenever I cover a textbook for my own kids, it always brings this sweet memory of my dad -- Papa -- flooding back.
"And you worry about your kids?"
by Allison T. Hudak
My dad grew up in poverty in Newark NJ. They lived across from a hospital thank God... they used to play in an old junk filled lot and had alot of bumps and cuts from this.
His best story was when they were on an old table playing pirate ship and my uncle Joe was underneath. The ones on top including my dad were making believe the waves were real high and shaking the table and Uncle Joe yelled... the table became attached to his head via a big nail... they carried the table attached to Joe's head with the nail and all across to the hospital... they were 3 boys in all and my grandmother says very wild and always in the hospital.
Uncle Joe was ok, but the nuns at the hospital will never forget the table and all coming thru the emergency room door.... and I think my kids get into trouble!
"A Rainbow to Remember"
by Sara Smith
My most cherished memory of my Dad is when I was 9 years old. I was in the hospital with insufilitis and meningitis (I was in a coma and nearly died). My Dad had to travel for business to make enough money to pay for my treatment so I was always sad that he wasn't there. One day he took me to the hospital window and pointed out a rainbow, he told me that whenever he sees a rainbow he will think of me, because just like a rainbow never ends, neither will his love for me. I don't remember anything else about my illness but I remember that moment.
"Passion for the Game "
by Michael Giannone
My father is Vito Giannone, a member of the Stickball Hall Of Fame. He's currently in the hospital, as he's lost his eyesight and most of his strength. His current condition has not disabled him from reminiscing about stickball, about the numerous friends he's made over the past 50 years because of stickball, about the stories he tells of games and scores and plays from the past 6 decades. As we talk briefly now, I think back to years ago when I (we) was younger, and how I'd love to hear those stories, and love the way he told them.
Stickball was a big part of his life, and seeing and hearing him now, it obviously still is. He loved the game, and loved the friends he made. He taught me more about life, about friendships, about treating people equally regardless of race, about being a good person, than anything or anyone else has ever taught me. I've seen in him the love of something, the commitment to something, and the happiness and satisfaction that can be accomplished when you are dedicated to something. Stickball may not sound like a lot, but in this case, it's everything. I'm so thankful for the game, and so glad that my Dad was able to play it.
I guess I could write about stories he's told of games he's played, or big hits he's gotten or great plays he's made. I could write about why he's called the Iron Man Of Stickball on your Hall Of Fame web site. I could write and try to describe how great I felt every time he sat down with me and told me a story about stickball. Or, I could just write THANKS DAD - thanks for the stories, and the interest you showed in me to include me in your stickball life. Heck, I rarely played the game (I tried it a few times) - I played baseball and softball instead. But when I watched it played, I understood and appreciated the ability of my father and his friends to play the game. And, I understood that it was much more than a game. Most of them still play it, even though they're in the fifties & sixties & seventies (and then there's Charlie Ballard - in a class by himself). I hope they all play the game forever.
I wish my Dad could play it one more time.
by Julie Balcom
Dad's lesson to us... we were on a family vacation during the winter and the family was having a great snowball fight. My dad accidentally ran out into the street and did the splits. At that time a big van was barreling down the road straight at him. He barely managed to get up and out of the street in time. After he stood up he said very seriously " Now you guys be careful and don't go out in the street." My thoughts were, "Uh,dad you were the one doing the splits and playing chicken with that van."
"Day with Gramps"
by Carol Kunkle
Years ago while was a student at CSM Junior College, I had bloody nose. I would get these often and sometimes it was very hard to stop.
I was sent to the nurse's office by the instructor, and my mom was called-- she was at work, and she called her father, my grandfather to pick me up. Being so close to the race track, gramps liked the horses, so instead he and I went to the race track.
Gramps returned me home before my mom got home from work!
"Dad to the Rescue"
by Abe Walshon
When I was about 6 years old and it was winter time and snow was on the street in Brooklyn. NY. I was sledding across the street from my house when suddenly and was picked up and thrown to the floor the ground with my sled being tossed into the gutter. I looked up and a man was hovering over me and yelling that I should not be sledding in front of his house.
Out of nowhere I saw my father come running toward me and when he came up to the man who did this to me. My father hit him right on the jaw and he fell down. My father yelled at him how dare you do that to his child. we went up to my apartment when a policeman arrived with the man my father hit. My father explained what happened because my father happened to be watching me thru the window of the apartment which faced the front of the house. Needless to say the policeman took the man by the collar and told him he was lucky that he wasnt being sued for what he did.
I was the proudest kid on the block.
"All Around Dad"
by Trina Rebeiro
My Dad is amazing all around from taking care of us, to helping with homework, to just listening. Even though he had a hectic work schedule every night when I was young instead of bed time stories I got bed time adventures. We would discuss all sorts of things; from science (how the eye works, to history. But the best adventures were ones about his childhood. He grew up in South America and he would tell me about things us North American kids just don't get to experience. Things like catching monkeys, his pet sloth, Peter, and swimming with piranhas. Not only did the bed time adventures fuel my imagination but it gave me the opportunity to see past my own backdoor.
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