BUD

In my family I am the one known for her non-existent memory.  For the most part that is true.  But since I’ve been writing on Gather I’ve discovered all kinds of memories.  We are all writing about our fathers this month.  Both of my parents are phenomenal.  Not perfect, but truly extraordinary, none the less.  It appears I have thousands of little stories about my parents, my sisters, my family, and childhood in general.  Choosing a single favorite would be like choosing a single M&M from an Easter basket filled with the little rainbow nuggets.  So I thought I would tell you about my father, about how he was a father to every kid he met.

Bud had four daughters, no sons.  He would never admit it but it was a small but important thing for him to have sons.  This was not meant to be.  It was all girls from the get go.  Bud was all things to us.  Provider.  Leader.  Decision maker.  Hero.  Outdoor cook.  Star namer.  Guitar player/singer.  Chauffeur.  Escort.  Guardian angel.  And lots more.  He inherited his mother’s ability to convince people to do things and make them think it was their idea.  He was a quiet man who seldom made demands.  And he was always surrounded by people who just wanted to be around him. 

I cannot tell you how many kids came up to me and my sisters and said in all sincerity, “I wish your father was my dad.”  We never felt jealous or threatened.  No one had to tell us that our father was the best.  We always knew it.

We sisters went to an all-girl Catholic school.  Nothing wrong with that, except there were no boys in our lives.  Bud saw this as a problem; how would he find good husbands for his girls?  So he volunteered as a pack leader in the local Boy Scout troop.  We were involved with the Boy Scouts for a few years.  We would have Bud’s troop over for weenie roasts in the back yard.  This is where I heard my first ghost story (that stayed with me for years). 

Another way Bud helped his shy daughters become part of the neighborhood was through bicycle riding. It took a couple of years but we all got bikes for Christmas.  Our over-protective mother wanted us to keep to our block and just one side of our block (no riding in the streets).  Bud wouldn’t have it.  We (sister) remember that conversation.  “Polly, what’s the good of having a bike if you don’t take it out for a good ride?”  Not willing to be left home alone, Polly insisted that she have a bike so she could join us on these neighborhood rides.  The money was somehow scraped together for this purchase and Polly was somehow taught to ride (now that’s a memory that would take several pages to relate) and our bicycle parade was formed.  It started simply and quietly.  We six bike riders would start peddling up the street.  Somehow, magically, every kid would be playing in their front yard and would see us slowly going by.  There were endless cries of “Can I come?”, “Wait for me!”, etc.  On foot, we sisters were not allowed to play beyond our block.  Behind Bud’s lead wheels, we traversed all the blocks in our neighborhood, collecting kids along the way.  It was all quiet and orderly, almost no talking, just the joy of riding along the neighborhood streets as part of the parade of friends and neighbors.  Then Bud would give the word that traveled back along the line.  “We’re going back.”  The next full circle dropped kids back at their houses.  Each exiting kid would give a wave and the ready plea, “Don’t forget me next time.”

Bud was able to afford a special private school tuition by providing more than his share of PTA service.  Every school play had scenery and props made by Bud.  He was the announcer at many bingo games.  He would arrange for the donation of countless turkeys for the nuns and school borders for their Thanksgiving dinner.  He brought Sr. Joseph her special bottle of Mogan David elderberry wine every Christmas (and she made it last all year long).  Polly, of course, always set up the refreshment tables.  Polly and Bud were the world’s best sponsors for the spook house at the school’s annual festival. 

Bud’s most flamboyant ‘sacrifice’ for his daughters was in the area of show business.  Throughout our childhood, our parents gave us piano, singing, and dancing lessons.  Dance recitals were always a big deal.  A few other families in the neighborhood also had their kids at our dance school so everyone knew everyone.  But I don’t remember seeing a lot of other fathers helping backstage – except for Bud.  He built costume racks.  He made scenery.  He did whatever was required.  One year all the dances had a Mother Goose theme.  Our teacher announced that she needed a mayor of the fairytale village.  Quite naturally, she turned to our father and said, “Bud …. ?”  The next thing you know, poor Bud is learning dance steps, learning song lyrics, being fitted with a costume, and is part of the show.  It was quite an event.  Everyone in the audience knew that Bud had an act this year.  Basically a shy guy, he strutted out on stage, in top hat, tails, and spats, and let loose in his twangy cowboy tenor voice …. “When Mother Goose learned to dance …”  He was a huge hit.  Everyone loved him.  Cameras were flashing everywhere.  He only did it once, never again.

Everyone, young and old, loved Bud.  Always quiet.  Always there for you.  Always with a good idea on how to solve a problem.  He never did find any of his daughters husbands.  We managed that on our own.  But he found a permanent place in our hearts.