Water

To my dad, any person that was slightly unusual or even just a little bit quirky would be written off as an odd duck. I heard this  phrase used often. An odd duck. Cowboy Eddie, locking his bike to a tree was an odd duck. The guy with the two foot beard, brown grocery bag filled with greasy car parts and who wore a parka with the hood up in 93° weather, was an odd duck.

When he spotted a male with very long hair, he would say, "why, he's a pretty thing." He employed so much sarcasm that it was almost unbearable. 

There was strange behavior where water was involved. Dad didn't shower or bathe as much as most people. 

I do recall a time that he made an announcement that he would be taking a bath. After he was finished, it was obvious that he had been smoking a cigar during his bath. That just seemed 

really strange to me.

When I was about fifteen, my family (including my grandma) took a vacation down through Tennessee and Virginia.

There were relatives and family friends in these states. In Lebanon, Tennessee, we stayed with the Purnell family. My mom and Grandma had known Mr. And Mrs. Purnell for many years. These were some of the nicest, most down to earth people you'd ever care to meet. One day, Mrs. Purnell suggested that we all take a drive to Nashville, which was about an hour away. The middle of Summer in Tennessee was really hot and sticky weather. It was a really nice trip and I even got to go to Gruen's Guitar Shop.

When we arrived back in Lebanon, Mrs. Purnell assumed that we would all want to shower before supper (not dinner, supper). She mentioned it several times in fact. It seemed like that was just fine with everyone. Everyone showered fairly quickly. My dad was last. 

It wasn't until a day or two later that my mom told me that dad had taken a fake shower. He just let the water run and splashed around with his hands a little while he sat on the toilet. A fake shower.

Why? I don't know

Much later, when I was in my early thirties, it became known that dad had a bad drinking problem. He had hit bottom and was in bed for several days. It was a really bad period. I took some time off and stayed at the house to help my mom. Dad was really out of it. A few times a day, I would go stand in his doorway and ask him some pretty serious questions about his problem. He never wanted to address any of my questions. It was very frustrating. After my questions, he always said the same thing as he patted the bed next to him, "come here and lay down next to me, Dan." He hadn't had a shower or bath in days and it was obvious. I finally told him that if he would take a shower, I'd lay down next to him and we could talk about some important things. He said he couldn't do it. I asked why. "I don't like to get wet." What kind of an answer is that?

Who says that? The phrase "odd duck" came to mind. 

The Little Grey Cat

The little grey cat was seen for a split second between two black plastic garbage cans. As soon as she saw me, she was gone. I saw her about eight feet behind the cans, running away. Still young enough to be curious, she looked at me with light sparkling in her eyes. 

The alley and its garbage cans is all she has known. That and watching out for humans. The little grey cat will never be touched by my hand.

It's Late

I always leave the Formica covered accordion door open about 6 inches. I never know when the curious cat will check in. Tonight, it was sooner than later. I urged her onto the bed. No. She went behind the shelf and looked for the truth and her future in the crystal ball. She then made her way to the pilly brown La-Z-Boy. She loves to go behind it. There was an orange tote bag blocking her way. She dug inside as if to say, "what in the hell is in here and why is it in my path?" Then, she was gone. Downstairs in the dark.

Forest City

Almond Auto Parts was where my dad bought all of his car parts. It was about a mile from home and he was on a first name basis with everyone who worked there. Let me rephrase that, he bought almost every car related item he needed at Almond's. There is a place called Forest City. You may have seen the signs for it with a drawing of a guy with an unusually long neck. I don't know what that's all about. The closest Forest City seemed about forty miles away when I was a kid. You know how that goes. It was probably six miles or so. Forest City would have these sales with unbelievably low prices. A case of Oil for 6.99! Limit one per customer. Dad and I departed on our forty mile journey to Forest City early one morning. We went in and he bought his case of oil. When we got out to the car, he removed his navy blue jacket and put on a dark brown corduroy one. Then, he put on a pair of sunglasses. Lastly, he put on a dark brown Fedora. He instructed me to wait in the car and went back in. He came out with a second case of oil. I was really impressed. My sister would join him on subsequent trips of the same nature. Creativity, great sense of humor, and always ready to work on a car (or in my case, brush paint my 67 Dodge Dart and 70 Ford Maverick). That was my dad. I think about him every day. Daniel Thomas Shea Sr. would have been seventy-seven today.