Illinois Valley News

This has been one of those weeks during which the thought of what to write about here has eluded me. Actually, I“ve had the germ of an idea, because of Mothers Day, but where to go with the thought has been the problem.

So, although too late for the actual observance last Sunday, I“ve decided to simply talk a bit about my late Mom. And Dad. She died around mid-morning on Aug. 14, 2003 in an assisted-care place in Oceanside, Calif. She and my Dad had moved there around mid-2001; he died on Feb. 16, 2002. He was 88; she made it to 92.

My Dad breathed his last one afternoon. The care-taker phoned me at home. And although his death was not unexpected because of his condition, I shed tears at the news, and felt a deep sense of loss.

Because of the ages my parents reached, a lot of people tell me that I“ll probably live a long time too. That“s OK with me. Hey, this isn“t very amusing, but bear with me. Sentimentality is one of my characteristics, believe you me.

Kind of getting on a roll here. Maybe. What I want to relate is the fact that my Mom had a terrific sense of humor. Fortunately, although some will disagree (especially those closest to me), that“s good. As a sidelight, my Dad had almost no sense of humor. In fact, if someone told a joke, he wouldn“t “get it“ until later. That could be disconcerting, as five or 10 minutes after a joke was told, he“d suddenly say loudly, “Ohhh ... I get it!“ Then he“d laugh, and the rest of us would have to figure it out.

But back to Mom. She had such a good sense of humor that the Catholic priest who led her memorial service spoke of that, and shared one of hers: “How do you make holy water“ You boil the hell out of it.“

It was interesting being a kid with my parents, because they were so different. Sometimes, when my Dad would be bawling me out for something, like maybe not sweeping the garage to his satisfaction, she“d be behind him making weird faces and sticking her tongue out. That got me through some tough times, but at times it was hard not to laugh while being chastised.

Another time, I had one of those plastic fake cameras that came in a box of Rice Krispies. I convinced Dad that it was a real camera, although in reality it shot a stream of water. So he posed at the kitchen table with his newspaper. And I squirted him.

To say that he was angry would be like saying that quite a few people live in China. He was furious. And wet. He got flustered too, and began shouting that “Children should be heard and not seen.“ This caused Mom and me to start laughing, which only worsened the situation. Especially as he kept repeating it that way. Still, we all survived.

When Mom died, I missed being at her side by around 15 minutes. Such is life. And death. We had some great laughs together prior to that; and I“m thankful.

So this is not a particularly comical column. But it“s heartfelt, because even at my age I recall many happy memories of being with Mom and Dad. Trick cameras notwithstanding. And funny faces.

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