Happy Father's Day, to Robert Earle, in memoriam

Today is Father’s Day. Happy Father’s Day to all of you fathers out there. Today I will share some good memories of my Dad.

He made me laugh by being the “Tickle Monster,” who sounded like a cross between “Cookie Monster” and “Fat Albert.” Dad also introduced me to Bill Cosby through vinyl. The Black Snake skit still puts me in stitches. He let Kari and I go to “Animal House” when “The Muppet Movie” was sold out so this is probably why I love movies like “Porky’s” and “Saving Silverman.” You know the type, not necessarily academy material.

He exposed me to Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard at an early age. One of our poodles was named Susie Boy after Johnny Cash’s hit “A Boy Named Sue.” Dad also used to sing, “I’m An Okie from Muskogee” to me. When I saw Merle Haggard in concert, I was thinking of my Dad when Merle sang the song.

One of his favorite stories was of when I was first learning how to read (thank you, Mom) at the age of 3 or 4. Apparently, we were driving and I pointed out a truck to him and said, “Look, Dad. F-O-R-D. That spells truck.”

He enjoyed reading. He understood my fascination with Shakespeare but also appreciated that I liked modern authors as well. When he died, I found a John Grisham novel in his apartment that was read half-way, “The Pelican Brief.” Even in death, he was encouraging me to try new authors. If he hadn’t, I may never have discovered John Grisham and my two favorite books by him – “A Time to Kill” and “The Rainmaker.”

He enjoyed watching me act. When I was 16 and in my church’s production of “Jesus Christ Superstar,” the tech crew had come up with a way to emphasize the scene where Pontius Pilate has Jesus Christ’s blood on his hands. The gentleman playing Pontius Pilate was supposed to reach into a clear glass bowl of water, squeeze a package of fake blood and the water was supposed to turn blood red. During one performance, this didn’t work. Our Pilate squeezed and squeezed, veins popping out on his forehead, and suddenly, the package of blood exploded. Droplets of fake blood splashed everywhere, including on my arm. I held my arm extended in front of me and was staring at it in horror. Part of me was thinking that this was literally Christ’s blood, spilled for me and apparently, the audience member sitting next to my Dad recognized this. She turned to her companion and whispered, pointing at me, “Look at that girl. She is such a good actress.” My Dad leaned over and whispered proudly, “That’s my daughter.”

Dad died on April 10, 1994. Exactly one month shy of his 70th birthday. He was cremated and my brothers, sisters, and I visited the park where his parents were married to release his ashes. As we said our goodbyes to him, we each took a handful of ashes and tossed him into the wind. Suddenly, this wind changed direction and Dad’s ashes came flying back into our faces! For a brief few moments, all you heard was the “ptoo-ptoo” sound as we tried to get the taste of our father out of our mouths. Then one of us (not sure who) said, “Dad always had a good sense of humor.” Another one said “Yes and he’s kind of salty.” Well, what are you going to do but laugh?

Thanks for the memories, Dad!