Memories Of My Dadai
My best friend listens to stories of my dad and tends to laugh. My dadai was a character, though not always intentional. She seems to think that I’ll be able to portray my father’s humourous nature in words. I like to think that I could as well, but sometimes the humour doesn’t translate well into written words. I lift up my proverbial champagne glass and hope that I can make it.
I have always wanted to compile a list of stories of William Herbert Mackey and what made him, well, him. He was funny and didn’t always try to be. But, when he really wanted to be funny, he could be. Still, he didn’t always try to be. He was funny without really trying. He’d deny that he was always trying to be funny. But, whether or not he tried to be, he was.
These are not just my stories, but stories of everyone who had the privilege of knowing my dadai. I hope that, as you read this, the humour of who my dad was does come across.
This is going to be several entries on my journal and I’ll name them the same title and chapter. I hope that these stories don’t get old and you’ll be able to laugh at these memories as much as my family and I have.
*************************************************************************************
Trying to think of which story to start off with was hard. There are way too many to tell. So, I decided that I would start off with possibly one of my favorite stories of my dad, which included my family.
In the early part of 1989, my brother was on leave and he was going to be deployed soon for six months. Our family, including my paternal grandmother, went down to Georgia for the day. We visited Tybee Lighthouse, which they laughed hysterically at me for my paralyzing fear of heights.
The day was fun and full of laughter and jokes. We decided that we would go eat at our favorite restaurant in Savannah, possibly all the United States, for dinner. Little did we know that the dinner would provide my family with fodder for the rest of our lives.
We placed our orders, with Mom ordering the seafood jambalya. The conversation was light and airy, jokes and friendly banter being traded. When our food arrived, we all started digging in, except Mom. Dad looked at her and asked what was wrong.
Mom sighed and pointed to the two crawdaddies on her plate. She hadn’t realized they would come in their shells. She very pointedly and half quietly said that she couldn’t eat because “they’re looking at me.”
My dad smiled and snorted in laughter. Within minutes, my brother and Dad were hovering over Carl’s fruit salad, just a snickering away. With tears of laughter in his eyes and his face red from laughter, My brother declared that he couldn’t eat his salad because it was “…looking at me.”
Come to find out that he had taken the grapes in his salad and made a smiley face with them.
Well, most families may have let it go within a couple months, but not mine.
About two years later, my parents and I went up to Virginia to visit my brother. We went to a steak house and when we sat down, my mom and I sat together, backs toward the wall. Across the table, Dad and Carl were once again snickering. Dad laughed as he stated he can’t eat because “…it’s looking at me!”
Mom and I both sighed and turned around, laughter escaping our lips. On the wall behind us was a mounted deer head. Even though the four of us were able to eat, the fact that a deer was watching us eat made us laugh.
Unfortunately for my mom, this story will never die. We will never let her live it down. And I think a part of her doesn’t want to live it down either. It certainly makes her laugh as well.
I have always wanted to compile a list of stories of William Herbert Mackey and what made him, well, him. He was funny and didn’t always try to be. But, when he really wanted to be funny, he could be. Still, he didn’t always try to be. He was funny without really trying. He’d deny that he was always trying to be funny. But, whether or not he tried to be, he was.
These are not just my stories, but stories of everyone who had the privilege of knowing my dadai. I hope that, as you read this, the humour of who my dad was does come across.
This is going to be several entries on my journal and I’ll name them the same title and chapter. I hope that these stories don’t get old and you’ll be able to laugh at these memories as much as my family and I have.
*************************************************************************************
Trying to think of which story to start off with was hard. There are way too many to tell. So, I decided that I would start off with possibly one of my favorite stories of my dad, which included my family.
In the early part of 1989, my brother was on leave and he was going to be deployed soon for six months. Our family, including my paternal grandmother, went down to Georgia for the day. We visited Tybee Lighthouse, which they laughed hysterically at me for my paralyzing fear of heights.
The day was fun and full of laughter and jokes. We decided that we would go eat at our favorite restaurant in Savannah, possibly all the United States, for dinner. Little did we know that the dinner would provide my family with fodder for the rest of our lives.
We placed our orders, with Mom ordering the seafood jambalya. The conversation was light and airy, jokes and friendly banter being traded. When our food arrived, we all started digging in, except Mom. Dad looked at her and asked what was wrong.
Mom sighed and pointed to the two crawdaddies on her plate. She hadn’t realized they would come in their shells. She very pointedly and half quietly said that she couldn’t eat because “they’re looking at me.”
My dad smiled and snorted in laughter. Within minutes, my brother and Dad were hovering over Carl’s fruit salad, just a snickering away. With tears of laughter in his eyes and his face red from laughter, My brother declared that he couldn’t eat his salad because it was “…looking at me.”
Come to find out that he had taken the grapes in his salad and made a smiley face with them.
Well, most families may have let it go within a couple months, but not mine.
About two years later, my parents and I went up to Virginia to visit my brother. We went to a steak house and when we sat down, my mom and I sat together, backs toward the wall. Across the table, Dad and Carl were once again snickering. Dad laughed as he stated he can’t eat because “…it’s looking at me!”
Mom and I both sighed and turned around, laughter escaping our lips. On the wall behind us was a mounted deer head. Even though the four of us were able to eat, the fact that a deer was watching us eat made us laugh.
Unfortunately for my mom, this story will never die. We will never let her live it down. And I think a part of her doesn’t want to live it down either. It certainly makes her laugh as well.