Roooooll again, Bud: A letter to my dad

It’s funny, the memories that pop back into your head when you lose a loved one. My dad recently passed away after 86 years on Earth, 62 of which were spent married to my mom. That’s a long time and a lot of stories.

Even though, at his age and health, I had some time to prepare myself for the inevitable, losing a parent still hits hard. I wasn’t sure how I would feel. So, how do I feel? Sad, yes. But I’ve found that there have been so many long-forgotten great memories that have resurfaced in my head and heart, which has left me feeling more grateful than anything.

I know what you’re saying right now…” Hey, Forty-something in Fishers! You’re usually extremely funny! Like one of the funniest writers ever! But today you’re kind of bumming me out!”

Bear with me. I mean, after all, my dad just died. Jeez! So, as I was saying…

As a dad, myself, I’ve learned quite a bit from this. So many memories come back to me that my dad might not have even remembered. He may not have known that some of these events had such a positive impact on me. I’ve learned that the kids are watching and listening. These are things they will take with them their whole lives whether you know it or not.

So, here is a letter to my dad to let him know some of those things …

* * *

Hi Dad,

I hear Heaven is beautiful this time of year. They say there’s no humidity, so that’s good.

I was thinking of some things recently that made me smile. Like playing Trivial Pursuit with the family. I was by far the youngest, so when we played, I didn’t know any answers. You wanted me to feel included, so you always let me roll the dice for you. Every time we landed on the “Roll Again” space you would sing in a booming deep voice, “Roooooll again, bud.” I’ll always remember that. Especially since it’s stuck in my head now. Thanks a lot!

Speaking of a tune stuck in my head, I also remember you would play ‘50s music in the car. My favorite was always “Chantilly Lace” by the Big Bopper. We would sing that together sometimes.

You gave me a love for sports. I remember when the Indianapolis Indians were in the championship in 1988. We were listening to the game on the radio, and it was apparent the Indians were going to win. You and I hopped in the car and headed to old Bush Stadium. You got us in for free in the ninth inning, and after the Indians won, you took me out on the field with the crowd. Mayor Hudnut was celebrating on the dugout roof. You yelled up to him and asked him to shake my hand, which he did.

You volunteered at our school, church, and the Little League. You came to every single game I ever played and even videotaped all my football games with the world’s most giant camcorder. I remember one time, when Mom was busy, it was your duty to take me out and buy me some basketball shoes. Apparently, Payless Shoes must’ve been out of the Nike Airs that I wanted, so you got me a brand called “Top Gun.” They were Velcro shoes with basically no traction. My friends still make fun of me to this day. But you knew I’d have way more fun if I was slipping and sliding all around the court instead of making those quick cuts. Right? It also didn’t hurt that they were only like $10.

Do you remember that time you accidentally hit me in the head with a wiffleball bat when we were playing? Yeah, I don’t remember that either. I must’ve blacked out. Oh well.

You showed me a love for the Colts, Notre Dame, the Reds, IU, and the Pacers. And you always made sure to let me know which players and coaches should be fired when they screwed up.

You bought us all a Colts watch one Christmas, and you were so proud to give them. I even wore it to your funeral in honor of you, even though it doesn’t work anymore.

Since we’re talking about sports, one of the biggest things I got from you is an absolute love for the Indy 500. You were always a sucker for tradition and now I am too. Since I grew up listening to the radio play-by-play of the race with you, I still find myself listening to the broadcast to this day, even though I’m sitting in the second turn. Yes, I cry during the ceremonies, just like you did.

I remember learning how to cuss by watching you put up the Christmas lights every year.

I remember you awkwardly trying to give the birds and the bees talk to me in high school. Let’s never speak of that again!

We had great vacations. One time you took me deep-sea fishing and even bought me a cheeseburger on the boat. I repaid you by throwing up all over the place. I guess that was the start of my lifetime of motion sickness.

Most years we would go to Lake Shafer. We would water the garden the night before the trip so we could pull up worms to take with us to use as bait for fishing. You would also use chicken livers. Do you remember the one time you accidentally left the livers out all day in the scorching sun? It smelled to high heaven, but we still used them and caught more catfish than ever!

I also had the opportunity to work with you for a couple of years. I was grateful for the opportunity to see how well respected you were at the company. Not many people get to see that side of their dad. I’m glad I did, because my work ethic improved from that experience.

Well, I gotta go. We’ll still talk often. Especially when I’m cussing up a storm while putting up my Christmas lights this year.

The moral of the story is … Take it all in, especially if you’re a parent. You never know when a seemingly ordinary moment turns into an everlasting memory. So, until we meet again … Roooooll again, bud!

Tim Rathz can be reached at 40somethinginfishers@gmail.com. Follow on Facebook or Instagram.