Piles

It was 10 am on a Saturday.  I was not much for sleeping in, but Saturday's for me were sacred as they are for many.  I tried not to plan anything on that day so as to relax, listen to music, watch T.V. and essentially veg the day away as any high school student would do.  However, this particular Saturday, which was truthfully just like any other Saturday, my father needed help with the piles.
Booooorrrrkks!   Boooooooooorrrrkkkssss!!!  BOOOOOOOOOOORRRRKKKKSSSSSS!!!!!

Borks was a nickname I gave myself as a 4 year old.  My father had the tendency to call my name with crescendo.  The first time he would call me, I would pretend to be in a location in our 2000 square foot home where I could not hear him.  Or, I would immediately put on headphones so he would think that is why I did not come.  The second call would give me goose bumps.  He knew I heard.  He knew I ignored. I hope he did not take it personally, I just did not want to pick up piles on a Saturday.  Then the third call.  The third call manipulated my body.  Just by calling my name and somehow making this one syllable word seem like the longest word in the dictionary, it would take control of my legs, make my heart rate accelerate and send me out to pick up the piles.

There were a variety of piles.  One of sharp juniper, another of the squared shaped green leafy tree.  There was a pile of a thick leafy bush.  The leaves of this bush would bleed clear fluid if you broke them in two.  They made a great ingredient for my friends and my famous yard soup.  There was a pile of grey dust, darker dust, sawdust and as I got older, plastic dust from photo cutouts of the grandkids.  There were large piles, small piles, fat piles but no rat piles.  The piles were in the grass, along the wall, on the cracked driveway and in the garage.  They were on the side yard and on the patio.  These piles were made each Saturday morning by Big D and his tools.  He used a broom, an edger, a weedwacker, lawnmower and other various tools.  I too, became proficient with each of these tools.  His words still ring in my head.  "Borks, don't cut the cord or you will die."

By the end of the afternoon, the piles would be gone.  The yard looked sharp.  It was not a huge yard but it was well kept.  I would feel proud in spite of my reluctance in the morning.  This past week, I along with my beautiful but strong wife and later with our kids, moved a large pile.  We moved 4 cubic yards of soil to the backyard from the front in preparation for a vegetable and herb garden.  I needed to move the pile on a rainy day in order to take advantage of the time I had.  As I moved the wheel barrel at least 50 times back and forth, I remembered the simple piles made by Big D.  I felt grateful.  I better understood the hearts of the children turning to the fathers and fathers to the children.  I realized that by picking up piles, putting on the roof, changing the tires, building the shelves, painting the patio, grooming the yard and much more, my father, Big D, was teaching me.  He taught me the importance of work and instilled in me a desire to grow.  Big D, thank you!  Thank you for the piles.  I may of scattered when you called but now love to make piles myself.  Now, awaiting the confidence that I can pass along the same lessons and more to my own.  Love Borks

Brown Suit

I remember a time in the 6th grade when I was getting ready for school.  I decided to where blue jeans and a white "t" but I could not decide if I should tuck my shirt in or not.  I asked my dad, since he always smelled good and wore a nice suit to work every day.  My dad said to tuck it in.   So I did.  "By the way, Dad, were you cool when you were my age?"  I asked.  "Not really."  Replied my dad.  "Okay, see ya!"  I untucked the shirt and ran to school.

Big D was actually a very good dresser for the most part.  He always looked really sharp in a suit.  His 6'7'' frame, large shoulders and huge feet and hands made you feel like nothing could ever harm you.  He always wore designer ties, or at least they looked designer with a tie clip that represented his excellence in college.  He would leave smelling great and return smelling great.  However, when he got home, within minutes he would put on his "Santiago Wear."  I remember thinking that my brothers actually were jealous of his Santiago Wear because they talked about it so much.  I figured he met someone named Santiago who designed their own line of clothing and that he was from somewhere in South America.  My dad had a way of making new friends and then learning how to obtain what they did best like Santiago Wear or salsa recipes.  Santiago Wear consisted of white or black sweats and a white t shirt.  He would sometimes still be wearing his dress shoes with this outfit and as a kid, I thought it was pretty cool but now I realize it wasn't and that my brothers were actually teasing him.  I still don't know who Santiago is but whoever he is, he sure did not know how to design clothing.

All joking aside, the reason I was pondering this today was because I wore all brown to work.  Dark brown slacks and a tan dress shirt, no tie.  As a pediatrician I don't usually wear a tie as it can get in the way of my work.  When I dressed, however, I remembered my dad said never to wear an all brown suit or an all green suit as these were signs of failure when it came to business.  Big D was good about knowing these little tips of success.  I guess it came with his training as a successful salesman or maybe these were little tips thrown into his "Verbal Advantage" tapes he would listen to to expand his vocabulary.  Big D, thank you for the clothing tips, I can't say I always followed them but they obviously are stuck in my mind.  Probably stuck because of my admiration of you growing up and now.

DH