Do It Right

 Dad taught himself to cook.

For a while, dad had to stay at home and mom ended up going to work. At one point, dad was getting around and doing what he could to help out at home. He took care of us kids and we helped around the house as well. We were not old enough to help with cooking, so dad taught himself how to cook really, REALLY well.

Dad could always cook. He was self-sufficient, but he decided that he wanted to build his skillset. Most of his recipes were home-cooking style, just standard home fare, but he stepped up his game. He learned new techniques and used different ingredients. I loved everything he cooked. He would cook for family and friends. If he was a part of a gathering where food was being offered, he probably cooked it.There were also a lot of dishes he created.

He got good enough that at one time he was encouraged and considered opening his own restaurant. It was a pretty serious consideration and he had supporters and backers. He had scouted locations and did quite a lot of research on foods and the business. At one point, he had thought about it enough and decided that he was not going to pursue that adventure. His reasoning was that he did not want something that he loved to do to turn into work. He did not want to risk losing the joy of something he loved to do.

Dad was thorough with everything he took on. He was not likely to rush into a project, and had to consider his physical limitations with anything he took on. He was always looking for ways to improve things. If something broke and he fixed it, he would find a way to not only make the repair, but to make the repair stronger and make it last longer.

Quietly, and mostly by example, I learned this from him. Probably not to the high level he mastered, but I think it was a learned behavior for me.

One of the recipes that dad came up with was really a pretty simple one: Dutch-oven potatoes. It is a very basic recipe, one that I am sure had been thought of by others, but dad’s version always tasted better than others, even mine. Especially mine. Very simple, with very few ingredients. Potatoes, bacon, onion, beer, and salt and pepper. It was probably the most requested dish for him.

He and some friends were getting together one night, and dad had asked me to help peel the onions and potatoes while he prepped something else. I was a young teenager and not always prone to going the extra mile to get things done, including peeling all those potatoes. Truth be told, I was probably a little resentful that I was not going to get to go with them. While I did peel the potatoes, I was slightly lazy about getting all of the peel off them. Not whole strips or anything like that. Just spots of peel.

Vern, one of dad’s friends, had stopped by to help get things ready and was helping me peel the potatoes and asked if dad left some of the peel like I was doing. I made some smart-mouthed comment about it and kept going. Vern quietly picked up potatoes and began cleaning up after me. I noticed immediately, and also immediately started cleaning up what I had missed, then completed the task without missing any peel on the rest of the potatoes.

Vern, as well as most of dad’s other friends, were all very similar in values and standards. Vern reminded me by his example that since I was representing my dad in what I was doing, I should also meet dad’s standards. While I have not always managed to apply myself 100%, the lesson I learned that day has stuck with me all these decades since. 

Broken down and simply put, if you are going to do something, do it right.

I have always tried to follow that reasoning. I wish I had followed it more strictly when I was younger. Things in my life might have been very different. It seems as though every day I have to remind myself that if I am going to do something, do it right. 

I am afraid that I fail more often than I succeed. 

Hold doors for others. Pick up trash and put it in the garbage. Put the cart back in the corral. If you are clearing your dishes from a table, take other plates with yours as well. Be courteous, polite, and kind. Listen to hear what the other person is saying, not just to wait until they are done speaking so you can talk next. Be a better person. Make the world a better place. Offer a hand to help others. Make someone else’s load a little lighter. Care for others. Truly care, not just care for what you might get out of it. 

As I said previously, I am afraid that I fail more often than I succeed.

Dad Could Sing

 

Growing up, I remember that there was almost always music being played. At home, the giant Zenith console stereo (complete with turntable and AM/FM stereo) was playing KSOP out of Salt Lake City. Mom and dad loved listening to the artists and groups that they would go see at the Terrace Ballroom. Salt Lake was a stopping point for a lot of the big name artists and groups passing through,and more than a few of the up-and-coming artists would play gigs as opening acts. Think Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, Jerry Lee Lewis, Waylon Jennigns, and Ray Price. In the late 1950's and early 1960's the big names were playing more traditional music and the openers were bringing in the addition of electric amps and adding rhythm guitars and bass guitars, as well as piano and drums to the act.

Mom and dad would go to listen and dance to the songs that dad later learned to play on his own guitar. Dad had a Gibson Heritage similar to this one pictured. It was a beautiful guitar and had wonderful tone to it. Dad and a few of his friends would get together and play, and they got good enough that a couple of the local clubs in Logan would ask them to play once in a while. One of the local groups, The Petersen Brothers, would frequently ask dad and his friends to join them on set or to cover for them when they needed someone to fill in for them.

I can remember as a young boy dad having his friends come over to play and rehearse, but they would play just for fun mostly. All their wives would sit in the kitchen talking, laughing, and drinking coffee. These nights were ones where I learned I needed to be quiet because if I was careful, I cold stay up past my bedtime and listen to them play and sing. Even once I was finally convinced that I needed to go to bed, I would frequently sneak out of bed and crawl out to the hallway and lay on the floor just outside of the living room where I could listen to the music more. I absolutely loved listening to them play and sing. I always wished I could do both, but never was able to discipline myself to learn to play any instrument, and only have a passing fair voice. It carries, but it does not always carry a tune. 

I do not know where his guitar ended up. I was told one time that my nephew Justin got it, but I do not know whether he kept it or if it is still around. 

Dad was always whistling or humming or just plain listening to music. Back when mobile 8-track players were big, he bought one for each of his cars (the very model pictured...) and even mounted an AM/FM stereo with 8-track in the camp trailer they had so he and mom could have music when they traveled or camped. This, I am sure, is where I got my penchant for always having tunes. The next cars they bought had AM/FM stereo with cassette tapes - quite a step up from the 8-track players. And while country western music was mostly what dad listened to, he later expanded his horizons to other types of music. Jazz and Opera were making their presence known. Ragtime.

I know that there were many subtle influences that dad had on me. I am grateful that the love of music was one that held tight. I grew up in a time of musical renaissance with folk beginning to share the stage with rock, and country getting electricity involved. I remember the "outlaws" of country music (Waylong Jennings, Willy Nelson, Jessi Colter, and Tompall Glaser) and the stir they caused with their music and straying away from the traditional country music artists. But I also remember The Who, The Guess Who, The Rolling Stones, Derek and the Dominos, Cream, The James Gang, the Muscle Shoals groups, as well as the (gasp!) Disco Era!

Saturday Night Fever and Grease were rock operas. They were just disguised as movies with music. Meatloaf and Bat Out Of Hell (and BOOH2 and BOOH3) were rock operas. Hell, Rocky Horror Picture Show was. And people loved the music. 

Dad loved music too. And dad could sing.