Dog and Teddy

I asked my dad what his favorite toys were growing up. The first ones that came to mind were his stuffed bear and stuffed dog - named aptly "Dog" and "Teddy". Now, he said when he was 4 or 5, he didn't yet have a bear. Only his older sister Judi had one. But, a family in the church sadly were killed on their way to the church by a drunk driver and he received some of their young boy's toys. In the box of stuff were the bear and dog. Now dad, with the imagination he had, truly believed these animals were alive. They had a REAL dog at the time named Jett, who was a black cocker spaniel and he ate the eyes off teh dog. They were little screw eyes and amazingly Jett didn't seem to have any ill effects from eating them. Anyway, since Dog didn't have eyes any longer, dad considered him blind - thus needing special treatment. You know, as truly blind dogs often do. Every night when he'd go to bed, he's place Teddy on his right and Dog on his left, to make sure they both knew they were loved equally. If any other stuffed animals slept in bed, they would be placed around Teddy and Dog, since they were the leaders. Now, dad had a bit of a bed-wetting problem (I believe this lasted until he was about 24 and regrettably returned earlier this year - it's been a bit awkward actually....). As I was saying, with this bed-wetting problem came washings and over time the washings would make them end up losing an ear or their nose or something. Each time he'd cry over the loss of these appendages. Grandma sewed much of it back on, but even today, as you see above, these friends have seen better days. They were well loved and I always remember as a kid seeing and sometimes playing with these animals. Just as Millie and Janice were his invisable friends, these stuffed friends were faithful companions for many years. Good 'ole Dog and Teddy.

***By the way, he doesn't currently have a bed-wetting problem. I added that for a laugh. But let's be honest, it's just a matter of time, right? Maybe a year....... two tops. ;-)

The Mitt Trauma

The story I'm about to convey is one of my dad's most defining moments (to quote Dr. Phil). A story so traumatic, so filled with anxiety, that it brings up fear and embarrassment 52 yrs later. This is the tale of (du du duuuuu)...... the mitt. In 1957 my dad loved baseball. He played with the area boys all the time, but didn't have a mitt, so he would borrow some from his friends when they'd play. This was ok for just playing around town, but to join Little League, he needed a mitt of his own. He went to his dad and asked if he could buy him a mitt. He said sure and off they went to a store downtown. The nice mitts they had though were $5 and they couldn't afford $5. There was an old-style mitt there that cost about $2. But, this glove was flat, had shoestring laces, and was something you might have seen Ty Cobb using decades earlier. Dad did NOT want that mitt! He tried talking his dad out of buying it by saying they could look later or that he didn't really need one right then. Anything to get out of his dad buying that particular glove. How could he tell his dad that getting that mitt would be embarrassing to him? His dad was so proud!! Even with all those convincing arguments about why they shouldn't buy the glove, his dad bought the mitt and they took it home. Dad mortified about the idea of showing it to anyone. He was made to show his brother, who just laughed at him. Had to show his mom. But, the worse thing was knowing that he had to show his friends. His knew he would walk to the field with that mitt and be mocked by all his friends. Ridiculed for having such an awful glove. He was around 9 at the time and that kind of teasing really hurt him and he cried and cried over that glove. He couldn't tell anyone that he hated it. He didn't want to hurt his dad's feelings. Admit to his embarrassment over the fact that his dad didn't know enough about baseball to know that this mitt was a terrible one. He knew he would never be willing to use that glove to play Little League. He couldn't do it. So, he came up with a plan to "lose" it. There was a hatbox on top of a wardrobe in his room that he knew no one looked in. So, he hid it there and told his dad he lost it. Well, his dad wasn't about to buy him another one after having just bought him that one, so he went without a mitt - meaning he went without getting to play Little League Baseball. The mitt was hidden for quite a while and every time dad would look at that box, feelings of dread would come up. He was scared to death someone would find the mitt and return it to him and he'd have to once again use it. It was like the tell-tale heart - beating for him. But, no one found it. Months went by, even years! Five years actually until one day, still unknown to this day why, his brother Carl got out the hatbox and exclaimed, "Mark! I found your glove!!!" HORROR!!!!!!!!!!! The moment is seared in my father's memory like it happened yesterday. The panic, the fear...... he wept. Not the glove! Not the mitt he tried so hard to push from his mind. His dad was so excited for him. "You can play baseball now!" He couldn't believe it. He couldn't say to his dad that he hated the glove. That the glove was like the devil to him, out to destroy all happiness in the world. He didn't want to hurt his dad or admit to anyone that he was embarrassed by this glove. There was no one to tell. So, he kept the glove. He tucked it away and every time he'd get a glance at it, the feelings of terror would strike him again. The panic attacks, the cold-sweats. All associated with this glove. When he was 15 his friend Bob Bowers rescued him from mitt-hell and gave him his old one, so dad felt ready to finally try out for baseball. Having missed out now for 5-6 yrs. He played a couple years of Babe Ruth ball and was the first one drafted. But, he wasn't eligible to play in high school as a freshman (which freshman year I don't know, because he took that year twice) because he was failing too many classes. He wanted to try out the next year, as a sophmore, but again had 2 Fs and therefore couldn't play. It wasn't until he was a junior in high school that he finally got to play. His dreams of baseball stardom almost fully realized. It wasn't until the late 60s/early 70s - when dad was late into his college years that he finally told his dad all the sordid details about the glove he had bought years and years earlier. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've gotten you another glove." All those years he suffered, all the times he looked at that glove and cursed it's very existence, were for nothing. All he had to do at the time was tell his dad he didn't like that glove and he might have been the greatest sportsman ever to play the game. We may never know the true potential that could have come from a young Mark Drexler. He may have even rivaled the greats of the time - Richie Ashburn, Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays. And, all because of that mitt. After their conversation the bad feelings that once haunted him for over a decade were put aside and the mitt now sits on display in his office. A mitt I once played with and saw throughout all my growing years, not knowing at one time that a 9 yr old little boy once suffered greatly at having ever owned it in the first place.

The Pains We Go Through for Our Kids

One Christmas my dad got a tin garage with a lift in it that he'd crank up. He thought it was so cool! The one thing about it though was it was sharp. The metal had sharp edges and when he woke up that Christmas morning and saw that great gift, he also looked over and saw that his dad's fingers were covered in bandages! Poor grandpa had been up the night before putting that garage together for him, getting cut after cut along the way, just so his boy would have this great toy in the morning. What we do for our kids. :-)

Boxing With Grandpa

My grandpa wasn't a guy who would sit on the floor and play with you. He was a teacher and a very intellectual kind of guy. A deeply religious man, who led the same church for over 50 yrs and could tell you anything you wanted to know about the Bible. He wasn't a hugger and would just pat you on the arm and smile. He wasn't the typical grandpa, but boy did I love him! Well, he was the same way as a father. He loved his kids, but wasn't the type who would sit and play with them often. Dad does remember some of the times he'd play with them. He said he was always fond of cap guns, so dad and Carl would hide from him and then shoot him with their cap guns. He said it was always fun! One of the times he decided to box with his boys. He took dad and Carl downstairs to the basement and had them all put on some boxing gloves (he did as well) and would bat away their punches. Smiling and having a good time, watching his boys try to get a punch in. Gently pushing them back and throwing little swats their way. That is until Carl DID get a punch in, and that's all it took. Gramps pummeled him into the ground, threw off his gloves, and said, "I'm done" and went back upstairs, leaving poor Carl dazed and confused on the ground. They ended up sticking with cap guns fights after that. ;-)

Ahhh...Boys

I love this picture above - taken in 1952 at Sandy Cove. I think it totally epitomizes what it must've been like for my grandma to raise 4 little ones, including 2 very ornery little boys. Carl's running off when she's just trying to get a cute picture of the 4 of them. Can't get them to all stand still and look at the camera. Haven't we all been there, moms? Anyway, Dad told me a very short, but funny little story about how they had a sun lamp growing up and that he and Carl would just stare at it until they couldn't see. Why you ask? Because they were told not to. Sounds like many of the stories I've heard from him. Doing things just because they weren't supposed to. Even more shocking is the fact that aren't both completely BLIND!

Payback...

I was talking to my dad about what his sisters told me about the Ramar incident. He never realized that his sister Debbie had gotten the strap as well after that whole chopping at the doorframe thing. But, that reminded him of how he once got the strap because of something she and Carl had done. One day dad, Carl, and Debbie were playing in the bedroom downstairs and were told to stay in the house until their dad got home. Well, Carl and Debbie decided they didn't want to do that, so they snuck out the bedroom window and ran away. Dad said to them they weren't supposed to leave, but they didn't listen. He decided he'd be the good one and stay like he was told. For once in his life, he was being obediant. ;-) He later fell asleep and forgot about the whole thing until his dad got home and they came looking for his brother and sister. They asked where they were and he told them they went out the window. "WHAT?! Why didn't you stop them?" they asked and dad got in huge trouble and got the strap for not making them do what they all were told to do. Much later, when Carl and Debbie finally got home, his mom was so relieved, that she welcomed them home with open arms. Yes, he said, they had to go to the beds early or something, but so did he, for being part of the whole thing. Plus, he was the one who had gotten the strap as well! So, I guess the Ramar thing just gave him a bit of payback. ;-)

Lost Treasures

When my dad was little, he and his brother had these really great trucks that they played with. When a store downtown, across from Wallace's was being built, they saw that there were huge mounds of dirt that they had dug up one day. So, dad and Carl went there with their trucks and cars and played most of the day on those big mounds. After a while, they realized they had to get home for dinner and left without their trucks. After dinner, they remembered that they had forgotten them! When they voiced their fears to their mom and dad, they were told they'd have to wait until morning to go get them. So, they went to bed that night, anxious to get back and retrieve their precious toys. As soon as they were able, they ran down to the spot where they had played the previous day and found the mounds of dirt had been carted away!! Carted away along with it, were of course their cars and trucks. So, years from now, maybe one day, the place where those piles were dumped, someone will find those tin trucks and cars from the 50s and count it as a lost treasure. A treasure mistakingly left by 2 little forgetful boys.