Father's Day

I'm having the kind of night that used to be so commonplace, but now rarely happens. Just hanging out at home alone and listening to some music at a pretty decent volume. I'm spending some time with a few albums that have been on the back burner for far too long. I like to be immersed in my music and the only way to do that is to play it as loud as possible given the circumstances and time. Saturday night is usually a good time. Oh sure I could put headphones on and listen as loudly as I want for as long as I want, but it's not the same. Nowhere near the same, mostly because it doesn't sound as good and, more importantly, I can't belt out the lyrics while pretending to be able to sing well.

I started out with half a Frank Black album, followed it with the entirety of Living Colour's Times Up album, one Megadeth tune, a few Melvins songs and for the past hour and a half Natalie Merchant solo stuff. Her music, lyrics and voice are incomparable in my humble estimation. Bigly under appreciated.

Anyway, that's not the point of this blog. It's Father's Day!

Oddly enough, I had an actual conversation around the water cooler at work on Friday with my friends Andy and Marianne. Father's Day came up and I told both of them that my Dad and I were going to go fishing on the river to celebrate, which seemed pretty plausible as far as I was concerned, but my story fell apart when I was asked which river we would be fishing on. Having no decent response, I finally blurted out that it was all a lie and that my Dad has been dead for like 30 years. Andy laughed and said his Dad had been dead for just as long and walked away. Marianne just looked at me and shook her head in some odd state of disbelief.

It's only been 28 years if my math is correct.

So I won't be fishing with him, but I'll give you a small story that has been seared into my brain for too many years. My parents separated in 1980, so we all moved out to Batavia, sans father. At some point, I was able to go spend every other weekend with him in Chicago. I can't recall if this particular weekend was around my birthday or Christmas or perhaps neither, but my Dad drove my brother Dan, and I think our neighbor Andy and myself to Toys 'R Us where my Dad was going to buy me a present. After much careful deliberation, I finally decided on a Lego set that was some sort of rocket launch pad. This wasn't the crazy intricate Lego sets that they have nowadays, but as a kid way back then, it seemed like it was.

Once we got home, I got right to work putting that Lego set together, with a bit of help from Andy and Dan. I do not remember how long it took to complete but at some point it was finished and that rocket was ready for launch.  I vaguely recall what the final project looked like...the flat base was about ten inches square and just filled with that Lego circle pattern, the rocket was probably about seven inches tall and made up of circular Lego pieces. Don't remember what else was on there, but I assume some building as well as a launch station. That would be kind of lame if it was just a square flat board with one rocket sticking out of it, but whatever...that's neither here nor there.

This weekend must have been pretty early on in my visits to Chicago as my Father was still living on the first floor and not in the basement. Almost all of my weekend visits that I can remember were in the basement, as the top two floors of the building were rented out to tenants. Anyway, back to the story.

Day turns to night and my bed for the weekend was the couch in the living room. This may seem odd to you that I only had a couch to sleep on, but I was used to it, as that's the exact same sleeping option I had out in Batavia. The couch faced all the windows in the living room and the street light poured in  illuminating the room and the Lego set I was so happy to have and so proud to have completed.

That night my bedtime did not coincide with my Father's bedtime. Much like my night tonight, he decided to play some albums at a pretty loud volume for a quite some time. I don't recall exactly what he was listening to, but odds are pretty good that it was Elvis Presley. Needless to say, that night he wasn't exactly in the best of moods, which isn't really all that surprising since it probably hadn't been too long since his wife had left him and taken all six of their children with her. I can see that being difficult to endure for just about everyone, but perhaps even a bit more difficult for someone who had been dealt with the fun curse of being manic depressive. My father was not a happy man and it wasn't difficult for me to realize it that night while he was pacing back and forth throughout the apartment listening to music which should have been providing him pleasure, but clearly wasn't. Knowing what I know now about relationships, I would imagine the music was just sparking memories which were best forgotten, but clearly not enough time had passed for that to happen.

At a few different points while I was trying to fall asleep my Dad's pacing brought him into the living room and during those times I just closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Guess I knew that in whatever state he was in it wasn't a good one and it was probably best if he just assumed I was fast asleep. Of course I was just a kid so I'd quickly sneak a peak every now and again and if he had his back turned I'd just silently watch his actions. Though I couldn't understand the pain he was feeling at that age, it was all too easy to recognize the sadness and anger consuming him that night.

I don't know how long it was that this pacing was going on, but at some point I watched as he walked into the living room, passed by the couch and continued towards the far end of the room. With the street light streaming in on my Dad, I watched  as he quickly raised his right arm and then violently brought it down in a sweeping motion which completely destroyed that Lego set I had built a few hours earlier.  I can't recall exactly what went through my head at that time, but I know it was some feeling of devastation. It was one thing for him to be upset and angry at life that night, but it was a completely different feeling having him destroy the present he had bought me earlier that day. I'm not sure how to describe what I felt, as it was a new emotion I don't think I had ever known before.

I just continued pretending to be asleep and when he finally left the room I buried my head in the couch and started to cry.

So there's my Father's Day story.

I guess we didn't exactly have what many might recognize as the typical kind of Dad portrayed on all those boob tube sitcoms, but I'm not sure anyone really has that kind of Father. What we had for way too short of a time was a very troubled person who had an extremely difficult time finding some semblance of happiness in life. I don't know what he thought of Fatherhood when it first happened and I'm not sure he was ready for that sort of responsibility, but I do believe he did the very best he could and I know that he loved all of us kids regardless of his ability to show it.

My father was honest, he was kind, he was quirky, and he made all of us laugh quite a bit.

You can all keep your own Fathers and whatever it is they brought to the table. I wouldn't trade mine for all the Lego sets in the world.

So here's the requisite Father's Day picture of me and my Dad. This is from 1980 and taken at my Grandma Buban's house on Christmas. The awesome REO Speedwagon album is a present for my sister Jennifer. My lips are stained red from drinking Hi-C and yes, those are sweet Dubble Bubble gum patches on my knees.

Happy Father's Day!

Throwback Thursday Kindergarten Edition

I don't know why I was always late getting to school before the bell rang in kindergarten. Perhaps I was too exhausted from riding my wagon around the neighborhood the night before? Perhaps I stayed up too late watching the Dukes of Hazzard with my father? Perhaps that was one of the nights I got spanked for lighting my paper garbage can on fire in my room? Perhaps I was just too sick to get to school on time, as I missed a good month of that year being sick? Perhaps I just didn't have any desire to get to catholic school on time? Perhaps I thought I was too smart for crayons and chalkboards and nuns and whatever else I had to endure in that classroom? Perhaps I just liked to sleep in sometimes?

I really don't know the reason, but I lived less than one small city block from St. Matthias school, so there must have been good reasons for me not to be there when I was supposed to be there. That's a lot of theres in that sentence. I do recall that sometimes when I was late, my brothers friends would try to sneak me in by surrounding me as they walked into the school, but apparently it didn't work all that well. I thank them for trying.

Apparently the school was saving money by writing a detention note for both myself and my brother, Michael. Times were tough back in 1979 in Lincoln Square.

Tuesday Tidbits

How's that for a lame title? Pretty sure I could have tried harder, but sometimes, when the sun starts to disappear, my interest in blog post titles starts to wane. This is one of those times.

I was originally going to do a State of the Buban blog post, but I just don't know what that would entail, so I've decided to shelve it. Plus I tried to find a picture to use for it, and this is all I could come up with. Guess I haven't taken my picture since New Years.

Which makes me hope that certain folks will read this and contemplate the number of selfies they post on Facebook. Nobody gives a shit after a while. We understand that you love yourself more than most love their favorite pet who's about to be put out of it's misery like Old Shep, but turn the camera to something else besides your damned face every now and again...says the person who just posted a selfie. At least I didn't take the photo though. That probably doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of irony.

Anyway, it's your typical Tuesday night over here on the wrong side of town. Bob's doing his thing with the Midwest Books for Prisoners* gang. Greg was cooking some sort of taco dinner for that group and he did a hell of a job. I like tacos and all, but this ranks right up there with the best taco I've ever tasted. I'm scared to write that last sentence, as I'm still not sure how something with ground turkey meat could taste so good, but it did. Must have been the beans and the rice. Either way my taco world view has been forever changed/damaged.

Time to take my vitamins. I think I'm going to need one of those seven day vitamin keeper contraptions, to keep all this crap organized. I don't think they sell them large enough to hold these damn ginormous fish oil capsules, which are slightly smaller than the sardines my Father used to eat out of tin cans. Who am I kidding, I eat them too. I've also been known to pull spaghetti out of the garbage and slap it on top of my head. Don't judge me.

This is day two of washing my pillows. Day one was yesterday when two pillows were washed and dried. Day two is just like day one, except with different pillows. It's good to have clean pillows.

So I was contemplating moving this blog to another platform and I'm still contemplating that, but I changed some of the settings last night here on Blogger and I kind of like it. Makes me feel like I have a new blog, even though I don't. I am a little annoyed that when I click on my blog the blog name starts off in one of my least favorite fonts and then usually quickly switches over to the font I picked. I'll probably still change it over at some point, as I've got big plans for this here blog and I'm not sure Blogger will know what to do with me once I completely blow their socks off.

I don't even know why I would want to blow their socks off though. That seems like a pretty mean thing to do. Perhaps I'll just gently blow on their feet as they were probably standing all day and their feet and socks are kind of sweaty and perhaps a bit stanky. Maybe I'll just cool down their feet and then  lull them into a wonderfully soothing sense of serenity and calm. The path to getting what you want is paved with giving, happiness, joy and intent, so I won't literally blow their socks off, I'll soothe their socks off, and then the Universe will open up and I'll receive all that I desire.

Anyway things are looking up not just for me, but for all of you and for this Erased Chalkboard blog. Have yourselves a splendid evening. I need to go get those pillows and start the process of winding down. Early to bed, early to rise, makes Dave happy, wealthy and wise.


*Prisoners from the Midwest area send Bob letters asking for certain books or magazines and Bob and his merry band of cohorts cobble together what they can find which hopefully comes close to the request and send it off to wherever the prisoner is located. I've helped out a few times, but usually I'm blogging on Tuesday nights. That's a lie. Anyway, if you have any books you would like to donate, please let me know. You could also donate some money to pay for shipping costs if you're feeling oh so generous. Bob usually ends up paying for this out of his own pocket. He's a good guy like that. They do good things for the community here at First Trinity Lutheran Church.