The Ding-a-Ling Sisters

For as long as I can remember, my dad called Denise, Darin and I the Ding-a-ling Sisters. My oldest sister, Deni, wasn't wild about the nickname, possibly because she thought it made us sound like... well,ding-a-lings... But I loved the nickname and wore it proudly. Partly because I loved being grouped with my older sisters who I completely idolized, and partly because every now and then my dad would explain how he came up with the nickname.

As the story went, a long time ago there was a TV show that had a group of girls called the "Ding-a-ling Sisters". They were smart and beautiful and funny and whenever they got together they laughed a whole lot. My dad said that's exactly how he saw his daughters, so that's how we became the Ding-a-Ling Sisters.

I never saw the show, of course, so in my growing-up-in-the-70's-brain I imagined the Ding-a-ling Sisters show as kind of a cross between Three's Company and Charlie's Angels. Three beautiful sisters appearing slightly clutzy and dingy, but secretly, sharp as tacks, fighting a life of crime in matching jumpsuits and boots.

I'm not sure what made me think to do it, but the other day I typed "Ding-a-ling Sisters" into the youtube search engine and suddenly there they were! The actual Ding-a-ling Sisters, four of them, not three... and guess what?!? They were wearing matching jumpsuits and boots! They weren't fighting crime though. They were singing and dancing in some comedy routine with Dean Martin. Now I'm sure my dad probably mentioned the singing and dancing thing but I must have forgotten. Anyway, it was kind of cool to actually finally see them as my dad might have seen them. Not sure how he decided they were smart but they were beautiful.

I almost wonder if I made up the smart part. Though it doesn't matter because I've never doubted that my dad thought we were smart and beautiful and my sisters are still the ones who can make me laugh until I cry. We do have the occasional ding-a-ling type moments too... like the time we must have stopped to ask for directions at least three times one night, each time politely thanking the person, rolling up the window and then saying, "Did anybody actually understand what he said?" so I continue to wear the Ding-a-ling title proudly.

I think I like my Three's Company/Charlie's Angels version a little more though than the real show. Sorry, Darin and Deni but I get to be Farrah. I didn't spend my entire 3rd grade year sleeping on pink spongy rollers for nothing. I am so prepared for that part. By the way, my dad also claimed that if it was quiet enough he could hear bells ring when we shook our heads. Lord knows how many hours of my childhood were spent alone in my bedroom shaking my head and straining to hear those bells. (Thanks, Dad.) But please take a moment to picture me, running in slow motion with my smart and beautiful sisters. I'm shaking my bouncy Farrah-hair like a Breck girl and if you're really, really quiet you can hear the faint peal of bells.

The Kiss Me Ring

It’s time for another random memory from my past. When I was little my dad would occasionally take my brother and I on long walks on Sunday mornings. I would hold my dad’s hand or ride on his shoulders if I got tired. Whenever I see one of the girls riding on Scott’s shoulders I can feel myself go back to that place where I was safe, secure and on top of the world.

My brother, Danny, would usually walk a few steps ahead of us and scan the streets for money or random other treasures. He would flip open the change door on every pay phone and newspaper stand we passed in hopes of scoring a dime or a quarter left behind. We often would go to this restaurant called Sambos where I always ordered the same thing: pancakes and hot chocolate. The hot chocolate was heavenly because it came piled high with a tower of whipped cream and sometimes the waitress would come around and give you even more whipped cream if you ran out.

On one of our walks we stopped at a store to pick up milk or bread or who knows what and after sufficient begging, my dad gave us money for the candy/toy machines. This was a rare treat, if I’m remembering correctly, so when after agonizing over which machine to choose and then twisting the dial, and holding my breath while I waited to see which treasure dropped, I was CRUSHED when out popped this ugly brown plastic football shaped ring.

To make matters worse it said “NFL”. I was five and learning how to read so I KNEW that wasn’t a real word. It couldn’t be since it didn’t have any vowels. Where was the A-E-I-O-U or sometimes Y? I tried sounding it out but what was it? Niffle? Nuffle? It was the DUMBEST RING EVER, that’s what it was.

My brother put his money in a second later and out popped a hard plastic neon-pink puffy heart-shaped ring with gold embossed lettering that read “KISS ME”. In other words it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. For a brief moment I thought everything had actually worked out fine. I got the boy ring, Danny got the girl ring; we would trade and everything would be right with the world again.

But seeing how desperately I wanted that ring made my brother just as desperately want me not to have it. The tears flowed freely as I imagined how he would torment me with it. Knowing him, he would flaunt it endlessly and when that got boring he would make me watch as he ran it over with his bicycle, crushed it with a rock or lit it on fire. It was a horribly traumatic bad awful tragedy, the kind that only a five-year-old understands. I was devastated and probably proclaiming it loudly enough for all to hear.

Finally my dad stepped in very calmly, as usual, and said, “Son, give your sister the ring.” As I wrote in #13 on my 50 Reasons I Love You list, that’s when my dad achieved hero status in my eyes. He swept in like a superhero and saved the day. I doubt he would have been thrilled to know that the ring would play a big part in my first kiss only a few days later.

I proudly wore my ring to Kindergarten, showing off like I was a movie star or something. And just like a moment right out of the movies, at morning recess Tim Snead walked up to me and asked, “What does your ring say?”

I responded, “Kiss me.”

And he did!

Great minds think alike

A few weeks ago my mom called and asked me if I wanted one of the birdhouses that my dad built. She said it’s supposed to be an outhouse. Without really thinking I said yes, and then a minute later it hit me, “Wait, it’s an outhouse for birds!?! That’s perfect!”

In case you think I’m crazy like my mom probably did, a while back in the play-doh post I quoted Amanda saying, “I'm building a toilet for the birds because I'm so sick of them pooping on my slide!” so it just made me all kinds of happy to think about this birdhouse.

As a kid, my dad spent a lot of time on his uncle’s farm and he had a thing for outhouses. He had a little collection of them (my favorite was the two-story outhouse - you never want to be on the bottom floor of a two-story outhouse) and when my parents retired to Hidden Valley Lake he started collecting and building birdhouses. He had a row of them up on posts circling their backyard that overlooks the lake. So the fact that he built a bird-size outhouse makes sense. And the fact that it has found a new home in our backyard makes even more sense. I don’t think this outhouse was meant for me at all, I like to think it was a gift for Amanda from her grandpa.

Grandma gave it a fresh coat of paint and we are searching for the perfect spot for it in our yard. Now if only somebody would have a word with those birds. Please tell them to stop pooping on Amanda's slide.

Two years ago

Two years ago today, I sat by my dad's hospital bedside and said good-bye to him for the very last time.

It's funny to me how some of the details of that day are so crystal clear in my memory while other details have disappeared completely. Like I don't remember the phone call telling me that I needed to get to the hospital immediately. Did my mom call me or was it my sister?

I remember riding to the hospital with my sister, daughter and nieces. But I have no idea if I met my sister at her house or if she picked me up at mine. I have no idea what we talked about during that long ride but I remember thinking that if we just acted like everything was normal that maybe things would turn out okay. We'd come close to losing my dad several times before and this would be just another one of those times. I remember telling myself that everything was going to be just fine but I also remember the voice lurking in the back of my head telling me that it might not be, not this time.

I remember that when we finally arrived at the hospital we all piled out of the car and rushed toward the door. And I'll never ever forget the sight of my brother walking toward us from the other side of the parking lot. The look on his face. The way he was shaking his head. The feeling of the wind suddenly being knocked out of me. I don't remember if it was my voice or my sister's that in a shocked tone said, "He's gone."

And then I remember the intense feeling of relief flooding my body as my brother explained that my mom had kept my dad on life-support so we would all have the chance to say good-bye. I can't imagine that I would have processed the idea of my father on life-support as good news had I not faced the other possibility first. But suddenly I was grateful for the opportunity to hold his hand one last time and to say good-bye.

I remember spending hours and hours by his bedside. Much of it is a blur but I remember talking, laughing, crying and telling lots of funny stories. I remember hoping with everything in me that he could hear us. Hoping he knew we were all there…his wife and kids and grandkids all around him. I remember Amanda dancing around like a goofball, which my dad would have appreciated. And the laughter… I know he would have been happy that there was a lot of laughter in the midst of all the tears. He wouldn't have wanted us to sink into sadness. I remember the moment my mom mentioned that she'd forgotten to turn his hearing aid back on. It had been off all day. I remember being upset at first but then I imagined my dad laughing and thinking isn't it enough that you expect me to hear you through a comatose state but I have to do it without my hearing aid too?

I remember trying to memorize the way my hand felt in his knowing that I'd never get to hold his hand again. I remember staring at the calendar on the wall and thinking that this would be one of those days that would be etched in my memory for all time. February 11 would forever be marked with sadness for me. I remember stealing that page from the calendar as I walked out the door for the last time. I remember the way my sister insisted on staying with him until the very last minute, not wanting him to be alone for even a minute. Until they came to take him away.

One year ago today I found out I was pregnant with Alyssa.

It was completely unexpected. I was writing a letter to my dad… my way of processing my emotions, I guess… when I suddenly had the sensation in my belly like a baby was kicking. Extremely weird since I wasn't pregnant. Must be indigestion...Those two sensations never felt the same to me but still I was asking myself... Geez, what could I possibly have eaten for breakfast that is now kicking me? I felt the same kicking sensation over and over again and kept thinking that even if there was the remotest chance that I could be pregnant, you can't feel kicking until the 16th week at the earliest. Yes, I'm scatterbrained... but even if I WAS pregnant I KNEW I wasn't THAT pregnant. But the kicking sensation went on for hours... what did I eat anyway?

Finally I said out loud, "Okay Dad… Real funny. I know I'm not pregnant but I'll take a pregnancy test." As soon as Scott got home, I went to the store and bought the cheapest pregnancy test they had KNOWING it would be negative and I would be throwing it away three minutes later. But NOOOOOOOO... there were those two little pink lines. I had to take a second test because I didn't quite believe the first one. It was positive too. I was pregnant.

So I decided then that from now on February 11 would have to be about celebrating life…my dad's life and my new baby's… So instead of being sad, I'll spend today being grateful that I had such a wonderful father and maybe wonder a bit which traits his youngest grandchild might inherit from him.

For Christmas 2003, I made my dad a scrapbook called "50 Reasons I Love You." I'm including the journaling below to give you an idea of what kind of father he was and why I miss him so much.

50 Reasons I Love You

1. You taught me by example to make sure the people you love know that you love them.
2. You taught me that I could choose to be happy and that it’s more important to be happy than to be right.
3. You are incredibly patient. How did you raise four kids without losing your mind?
4. You’re funny. You tell great jokes and stories, sometimes over and over and over. (Is that so we won’t forget them?)
5. You always manage to stay unbelievably calm, even under stressful circumstances.
6. You always made me feel safe. I never felt like anything bad could happen to me while I was in you care.
7. You’re one of my favorite people to dance with.
8. You’re always singing. I’ve always felt comforted by that, as if when you are singing everything is right with the world. (I’m not saying that your singing is good, necessarily, but it is comforting!)
9. You taught me that life is too short to hold grudges.
10. Whenever you signed my report cards, you wrote really great comments about me for my teacher to read.
11. You always helped me with my homework.
12. You taught me that it’s okay not to have all the answers, because nobody does. Sometimes it’s okay to say, “I don’t know.” and sometimes the answers are easier than you think:
    · Dione: Why is that woman bald?
    · Dad: Because she has no hair.
13. You made Danny give me the “Kiss Me” ring in exchange for that stupid “NFL” ring when I was five, securing your position as “hero” in my eyes.
14. Whenever I had to have blood tests or get shots you held my hand and let me squeeze as hard as I could.
15. The talks we had when you drove me to school and the long walks while holding your hand meant a lot to me.
16. You taught me by example not to let little things bother me, to roll with the punches.
17. You once explained to me that when you asked me to clean my room, you were really only hoping to be able to see at least part of the floor.
18. You taught us the importance of safety. You insisted we wear seatbelts long before it was the law. (You used to reach back and PINCH us if we forgot to put them on, so I rarely forgot!) And thanks to you, I will never ever cook while wearing long loose sleeves since I imagine I would burst into flames if I even considered it.
19. You made me promise you I wouldn’t get married until I was at least 25.
20. You chauffeured me to my senior prom, filled the limo full of balloons while you waited for us, and saw to it that we had a wonderful time.
21. You taught me the importance of being able to laugh at myself.
22. You’re a hard worker. You worked hard to support our family and take care of the house, the yard, and the cars. And now that you’re retired it seems like you’re always working around the house and frequently pouring cement (What’s up with all that cement?).
23. You’re one of the wisest people I know and you give great advice.
24. You encouraged me to do the things I love.
25. You give great hugs, and I get at least one every time I see you.
26. You taught me how to treat people:
    - Be generous with praise and sparse with criticism.
    - Treat people with respect; treat them like you would want to be treated.
    - When someone gives you a compliment, just say “Thank you!” (Don’t try to convince them of being wrong.)
    - When someone insults you, say “Thank you.” (It will blow that person’s mind).
    - Admit when you’re wrong. People will respect you for it.
    - Always look people in the eye and SMILE. (You said that I’d be surprised how many people would smile at me if I smiled first, and it’s true!)
27. You made us get all dressed up in Christmas jammies and do a photo-shoot.
28. You encouraged my love of writing. You taught me that if I didn’t know the meaning of a word, to look it up in the dictionary. You read my papers and gave me constructive criticism. You told me to write to be understood, not to impress.
29. I inherited my fabulous sense of direction from you. 3? 5? 4? 6???
30. You taught me that life isn’t all fun & games by having Danny & I spend Saturday mornings doing yard work (Man, I HATED that!!!).
31. You’re brave. You’ve faced your battle with leukemia head on, somehow maintaining a positive attitude and doing whatever you had to do to fight this horrible disease. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how proud I am of you. Your strength amazes me!
32. You bought me my first camera and then patiently taught me how to take great pictures.
33. You make great breakfasts, especially your biscuits and poached eggs (but why did you have to make the scrambled eggs green?).
34. You always said you had a blast raising us kids, which made me look forward to having kids of my own.
35. You have always been there for the most important moments in my life.
36. You have always been able to fix what’s broken (plus you made a very cool light-box for me!).
37. You were always there to encourage me when I was afraid to do something. Even now, when I’m nervous about trying something, I hear your voice in my head asking, “What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?”
38. When you had to give me spankings, you always said, “This is going to hurt me worse than it’s going to hurt you.” (A nice thought but I still don’t believe it!)
39. You always said, “Never look a gift-horse in the mouth.” I understood the concept, but for years I wondered, “What the heck is a gift-horse and WHY shouldn’t you look it in the mouth???”
40. Mom could have done a lot worse. Two words: Bald redhead.
41. You always told me that I was adaptable, that you thought I could survive in any situation. I never really believed that about myself, but the fact that YOU believed it made me think there was a chance it might actually be true.
42. You always told me not to worry about what other people think of me.
43. I have always felt lucky to be your daughter. I always loved being able to “show you off” to my friends. And they all loved you too. In fact, everyone who knows you loves you!
44. You’re the only one I ever wanted to walk me down the aisle. And one of my favorite wedding moments was when you were asked, "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" and you responded, "Her mother and I do FINALLY. She's our baby and she's a good one so you better be good to her, Scott, or…”
45. You always tried to be fair... like spanking both Danny and I even when it was Danny that caused the problem, so that he didn’t feel singled out...Wait a second, that wasn’t FAIR!
46. You’re a wonderful grandpa.
47. You always told me that there is no point in worrying. “If there’s something you can do about it, do it, if there’s nothing you can do about it, then what’s the point in worrying?”
48. I can always count on you to tell me I’m beautiful, even when I don’t feel beautiful.
49. You taught me to hide an extra car key somewhere on my car and an extra house-key outside my house (Just these two simple ideas have saved my butt about a million times!).
50. I’ve never had to wonder how you felt about me. You have always made me feel loved, always made me feel special, and always told me that you’re proud of me. You’ll never know how much that means to me.