Jim Wheaton
Yesterday I told you that I didn’t feel ‘alone’ because I carry my memories with me. I’ve continued to remember my dad since I wrote that post.
My dad had an infectious laugh. He was an amazing storyteller.
He told one story of he and his friends (all dads, some granddads, NONE of whom had any experience at all) going ‘camping’ one weekend in Arkansas. They decided they would float down part of the Arkansas River in flat-bottomed boats, pick a spot along the river to camp overnight, cook dinner and breakfast over a fire, and then pack leisurely to hike back to their cars.
They stopped at the boat rental place. The renter asked if they had floated before. They hadn’t, but assured the man they wouldn’t have any problems. He made SURE they understood that the river was a little rough this time of year and that it was really important they wear life jackets.
They left their cars, packed up two flat-bottomed boats with their gear, and proceeded to get into the boats and embark. No one had experience in getting into boats, much less floating down the river, so immediately one of the boats dumped over with one of the men trying to climb in. They managed to grab all the gear that went into the water, got into the boats and headed off, their big adventure under way.
The group that was in the first boat lost patience with those in the second boat, so went ahead at their own speed. The big problem with this was that they had all the beer in their boat and so the men in the 2nd boat had nothing at all to drink. The sun was beating down and everyone got super hot quickly.
The 2nd boat caught up with the first, yelling about the beer. They proceeded to divide it up, all drinking until they didn’t care how hot it was.
To make a long story shorter, they couldn’t start a fire because they forgot matches and no one had a clue how to start a fire otherwise. They ended up having some crackers and the rest of the beer for dinner.
They got the bright idea of digging “butt” holes in the ground to make their sleeping more comfortable. All worked like crazy, using whatever they could find to dig with, trying out the hole to make sure it finally ‘fit’ their butts. They got into their sleeping bags, exhausted and hungry, but more than a little high. One of the men started cursing. When the others asked what his problem was, he yelled, “I sleep on my stomach!”
The next morning, still hungry, they were all up before the sun. They were wandering around trying to take care of business, get things together, when one of the men started cursing. He had been trying to brush his teeth – using his tube of Unguentine instead of toothpaste.
With no breakfast, they called the rental place to come get them instead of trying to hike all the way back to their cars, agreeing that this was the first and last camping trip.
Besides painting great mental pictures with his words as he related the story, my dad relived the tale as he spoke. He would break up, laughing helplessly, over and over, almost unable to go on, tears streaming down his face. It almost didn’t matter what he was saying, everyone around him laughed because HE laughed, totally caught up in the story.
He had several stories that we begged him to tell over and over, just to share his joy and fun.
I can see his face in front of me now, trying to catch his breath while attempting to go on with the story. It took me quite a while to ‘remember him laughing’ after he died, but I replay his stories in my mind and heart NOW, remembering how much he loved life and loved to laugh. I have wonderful memories of him to carry with me forever. He’s with me.
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