Thanks, Dad!

Thanks, Dad!

I have a long and not-so-honorable tradition of forgetting my father's birthday. May 21 often falls during an eventful time for students and teachers—at, or near, the end of the academic year—and for many years I was one or the other, and was unusually frantic at that time.

This time around, I'm neither, so you'd think I would have remembered my dad's birthday with appropriate fanfare. But, no, once again I experienced that dreaded forehead-smacking sensation upon looking at the calendar sometime in late May, and was reduced to the pathetic fallback of calling to sing my now-trademark "Happy five-days-after your birthday to you!" message on my dad's answering machine.

So, Dad: in lieu of a timely birthday greeting, this Father's Day post is for you.

My father would make a great children's book character. Come to think of it, at least one children's book character has been partially based on him: when my cousin Ellen wrote a book that featured a riddling jester, many of that character's jokes were ones she'd heard from my dad way back when. It was moving, if a little unnerving, to see them take on another life beyond my eye-rolling childhood memories.

My dad has always loved music. The lullabyes I heard from him weren't traditional ones, but popular tunes and folk songs: Joni Mitchell's "Michael from Mountains," James Taylor's "Sweet Baby James," and songs made popular by folk groups like the Kingston Trio and the Weavers. When I was a kid, he took up the mandolin, and then later the piano—in fact, a few years ago, when he retired from his career as a therapist and administrator, he took up a new career as a jazz pianist. It's been inspiring to see first-hand that learning never stops, and that you can commit yourself to something you love at any point in your life.

I don't remember my dad reading to me much as a kid, but boy, could he ever tell stories. Some of my favorites were the continuing adventures of the King brothers: Nosmo and Nopar (Get it? Nosmo-King and Nopar-King?). Another running series involved the two first guys in the world: Adam and his brother Up, or, as they were more commonly known, Up and Adam. Up and Adam's discoveries of chairs, shoes, and other basic items were among the first pourquoi tales I heard.

As I got older, my dad came up with a series of origin stories telling how the states got their names. I certainly never learned in school that Wisconsin was founded by a group of fanatically clean Puritans whose motto was "Whisk on sin!" or that Colorado was named after a wife trying in vain to get her husband to appreciate the beauties of the Grand Canyon ("Look at all that color, Otto!"). When, as an adult, I came upon Laurie Keller's gag-filled yet informative picture book The Scrambled States of America, I couldn't help but be reminded my dad's similarly playful approach to geography.

Family and history are important to my dad, and he's found lots of ways to communicate that importance: telling stories about his childhood in the Bronx, and recording interviews with my grandparents about their immigrant experiences. He's big on family traditions, and will invent them at the drop of a hat. Every year, come spring, he'd take a photograph of my brother and me standing in front of the magnolia tree in our yard. Every fall, for almost 15 years, he and my brother and I—sometimes accompanied by other friends or family members—would walk across the George Washington Bridge.

So, what does all this have to do with my usual topic of kids' books and reading? Lots, as it turns out. A few months ago, my father happened to be visiting us during my daughter's school's celebrations of Family Literacy Day, and she'd brought home a "family literacy bingo card," which she was to fill out over the course of the week by completing as many of the listed activities as possible. I was amazed at how many of them mirrored things my dad had spontaneously done with my brother and me when we were kids:

• "Look at a family photo album"? My father is an inveterate snapshot-taker; our family occasions have invariably included someone (usually me) hiding and whining "Dad, stop taking pictures!" But it's true that the resulting photographs are very dear to me.
• "Attend a show or performance together"? Some of the first performances I remember seeing were community-theater productions of the Broadway shows my dad adores.
• "Sing a song together and then change the words"? Song parodies are one of my dad's many specialties.
• "Share a family story"? Check.
• "Play a word game"? All the time! (Especially if you count puns as word games.)

All these activities promote a love of language and of communicating through words, and create a rich verbal environment that ties language to the experience of bonding with family and of being part of family life. Growing up with my dad was like a full-time family literacy curriculum in itself. As he himself might say: who knew?

If your own family literacy traditions include sharing books together, Scholastic has an excellent list of read-aloud books celebrating fathers, and I put together a list of some of my favorite fictional dads on my other book blog last year.

Nonfictional dads, though, can be pretty great too. Thanks for everything, Dad. Happy Father's Day...and happy 25-days-after-your-birthday to you.

June 12, 2008

 

Comments

[Andrea]

I'm always fascinated that following our natural instincts so often leads to doing exactly what studies later prove to be essential! I'm glad your dad took the time to follow his.

[Susan]

What a sweet, sweet post. Your father sounds wonderful.

When I was growing up, there was a variety show on TV (the golddiggers?) that had a running skit with a character who named himself Nosmo King when he emerged form the jungle and saw a sign with that on it. Vague memories are now trying to come out from the bottom of my brain....