“Dude, I just opened dad’s garage and found him working out barefoot on the treadmill with a bottle of wine!” This was a phone call I received from my brother back in 2008.  He was so shocked and irritated.  I thought it was hilarious and had to recreate it.      

My dad was a maverick.  He grew up poor, on a farm in Long Prairie, Minnesota.  When he was 18, he hitchhiked to California for warmer weather. He was a medic in the army and apparently tested the boundaries of military life all the time - to his benefit.  One story I remember involved my dad convincing a helicopter pilot to transport him to a bar because of a medical issue that he needed to solve.  He really just wanted to meetup with a girl.

I grew up hearing about his childhood friends “Puddo Shinski and Wormy Freezy.”  The stories involved Jackass-like stupid human tricks, like getting their wieners stuck in glass bottles, licking frozen poles and nailing wooden skis to the bottom of their shoes and then holding on to cars in the snow.

When I grew up, we’d often meet at Dukes in Huntington Beach and drink beers in the afternoon.  This is where I learned about most of his medic stories, while in Korea. He was reminiscing once and loudly proclaimed that he “knew a thing or two about Gonorrhea.”  He didn’t go into detail; I didn’t ask either.  I just remember looking around to see if anyone heard him.

He rarely showed pain, or talked openly about his problems.  He was part of the Silent Generation, which is characterized by being reserved, hardworking, and patriotic.  This was true of my dad.  He died in 2012; I miss him and our talks.