Conversations with My Dad

“He might be gone, but Dad’s still here.”

I have fairly regular conversations with my father even though he passed away in October 1981. There were also occasions in the past when I told him to be quiet, that he should not speak for me. Like in the following.

It might be in work situations, a University Board meeting or a conversation with a difficult colleague. It didn’t matter if the other person was the president, a faculty member, or the bishop. If I was being attacked unfairly, the Dad in me was ready to fire away and tell the other person to go to hell. (But in more explicit terms.)  

T.J. Kennedy was a farmer, a truck driver, a heavy equipment operator, and a construction worker. But he was also a very kind man, a man who helped people in Braidwood who needed help. He used his tractor to plow the snow out of driveways for the elderly, always refusing any money. He was friends with the men who had few friends. Ready to give a hand when somebody was down and out. Somebody need a few bucks? T.J. would slip him some money.

Though he was kind hearted and empathetic, he could also be tough as nails when the occasion called for it. He learned early on that he had to stand his ground against those who were bigger, stronger, and had power. He didn’t take crap because he knew it would keep coming. He was a union guy who was loyal to the brothers of Teamsters and Operating Engineers. Never crossed a picket line and supported other unions.

After Dad died, there were years that I failed to realize how much influence that he had, and continued to have, on me. Yes, his voice sometimes spoke through me. But as I got older, I found solace in talking to him in my quiet moments or before I go to sleep. He listened to me as I told him about the laughs that we had together, lo those many years ago.

Recently, I told him about a few times that I thought, “Dad, if you could have seen what I saw today, you would have said, ‘Are you **** kidding me?’” 

Here is our conversation:

Dad, I was thinking about the time we were living in Braidwood and how much I loved our dogs. Teddy was with us at the old house on Walker Street, next to the baseball diamond. Tippy was our Collie on the East side of town. 

Yes, Tommy Ray, they were both great dogs. Teddy died of old age and Tippy got crippled when she got hit by a car late one night. I remember when you heard the “thump” and you went to the street and picked her up. 

I do recall picking her up and carrying her to the utility room and covering her with a blanket. I remember crying so hard. Saw the bone sticking out of her leg and I thought she was going to die.

You know that I should have put Tippy out of her misery that night. That’s what I had to do to crippled animals on the farm when I was your age. But I didn’t have the heart to do that to your dog. 

Thanks, Dad. But you taped a splint to her leg the next day and nursed her along. She did mostly recover although she always limped after that. 

But I wanted to talk today about something you will find pretty funny. Dad, in Braidwood or Wilmington, did you ever remember seeing people walking their dogs using a leash?

Dogs on a leash? People walking with them? No, dogs have to run loose or in a pen, like other animals.

Well, that happens now days. And the dogs live in the house not a dog house. Some dogs even sleep with the people in the house and just go outside to poop and pee.

You’re shittin’ me.

Now that you bring it up, how about this! When people walk their dogs and the dogs take a dump…the people pick up the crap in a bag and carry it away. 

Now I’ve heard it all. 

Did we ever buy dog food? 

Of course not. Dogs ate scraps from the table. Do they sell food scraps?

Not “food scraps” but special dog food in cans and packages. There are special stores just for that sort of thing.

Dogs are not human beings. They are “dogs.”

Next time we have a conversation, I will tell you about the lady who pushes a baby stroller with her dog in it.

Son, are you drinking?