As young children, my little brother and I would often go with our Dad on grocery trips to the local shopping market…(the only local shopping market in our little Illinois town…Krogers). At the time, we were made to believe we had won some mystery contest to be the lucky attendees of this foray into the world of poptarts, lunch meats, frozen pizza, and new ice cream flavors. Of course, later, we realized that we were actually being kindly disposed of by my mother…but at the time it felt like a great honor. My Dad, although a stoic and (if you’d asked my friends) generally intimidating presence, had a bit of a soft spot when it came to new products. JT and I never had trouble finagling the after school snacks we knew Mama April would NEVER purchase of her own accord. ( Pepsi clear, Surge, newly introduced french toast sticks, white cheddar cheese-its...to name a few).
James and I never fought over what food we should get, though. In fact, there was only one time we consistently fought during such outings; walking from the car, to the store. For some reason the two of us had been convinced that it was infinitely better to hold my Dad’s “watch hand,” his left hand, rather than his boring, unadorned right hand. I’m fairly confident I started this competition, while searching for any possible way to make my little brother feel his obvious inferiority. So from the second our seat belts clicked, we would race like crazy to see whose hand could be tucked into "the watch hand" faster. The winner would triumphantly claim the reward, raising it in the air like a boxer who’s just completed the 23rd round, and the loser would resign themselves to the much less important right hand, grumbling all the way to the dairy aisle. My Dad, of course, would always resolve the issue by making us switch for the trip back to the car (keeping in mind, each of these car to store excursions lasted about 15 seconds on average)…but the victory wasn’t the same, wasn’t earned, and was further disgruntling because he was usually pushing a cart, therefore limiting access to the glorified limb in question.
We took the watch hand pretty darn seriously.
The memories I have of my childhood with my Dad vary in shape and size; some are just brief moments which jump out like a highlighted paragraph, and others are entire pages which will forever be burned into the dearest part of my heart. His stories about his own childhood, his travels, his life experiences (so many stories!! Don’t ever accuse a Laughlin of being a bad story teller; or, worse, not having any stories!!), vacations we took as a family, vacations we took just the two of us, lessons he’s taught me, even punishments he’s dutifully doled out (under the stern direction of General April, of course). This one, though, the watch hand, is near and dear to me, though it was deposited long ago, and with little fanfare. It is an invaluable piece of my past; a reminder of how blessed I was as a kid to not only feel important to my Dad, but to really be important. To know that my Mom, my brothers, my sister, and I were his priority, whether it was at home, at school, on the sports field, the stage, in the church pew, or the grocery store. I remember he used to have a sign hanging on his office door in Peoria that read: "I've been called a lot of names in my life. My favorite is DAD." That's the kind of Dad he was...and is. A present Dad. An active and involved Dad. A loving Dad. Through his example he teaches us: his children, and his grandsons, what a great husband and father looks like; what great love and sacrifice look like.
Plus….he’s not bad on the ukulele, either.
James and I, as all brother and sister duos are prone to having, partook in numerous competitions…but I think the watch hand, for me, ranks in my top 5. Maybe even my top two. To this day, I would race James to stake my claim on that hand (and probably beat him soundly, since I brought it up)…but what stands out in my mind the most is that today, at 27, I would still cherish a simple trip to the grocery store…with my Dad :-)
Happy Birthday, Popsey!!! We all love you more than you'll ever know :-) xoxoxo
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