A Blog For My Dad

One of my favorite sounds growing up was my dad’s whistle.

When I heard my dad whistling I knew for certain it meant he was in a good mood. And that meant I could maybe climb onto his lap. Or talk him into playing me in a game of Cribbage. If he was really whistling a happy tune, he might even be persuaded into telling a story or two.  Maybe he’d tell about the time he got a belly ache from eating a dish of ant poison, thinking it was honey. Or how his sister Louise could yell “Ruthie!” and sound just like their mom, to tease and confuse my Aunt Ruth.

My Dad is a really good whistler. He mostly whistles polkas. I imagine those polkas are ones he learned when he played lead trumpet for the Len Shimota Band back in his younger days. Dad can still play a mean trumpet. But now he plays in Community Bands instead of Polka Bands.

But he still likes to whistle polkas. And waltzes. When he’s in a good mood.

Two summers ago I got to dance the Blue Skirt Waltz with him at my niece’s wedding. My dad’s an excellent dancer.  Very smooth.

He’s a smooth whistler too. There are few people I know who can whistle as well as my dad.

But that’s not all Dad can do. He’s a fine craftsman as well. Several items in our home are things he has made: a little table, our bedroom set, the clock in the living room, a few nightstands, my box of little treasures...

As much as I treasure that little box and all those other items he made for me, I treasure my dad’s whistle even more. Because I know what it means. It means he's happy. Are you whistling today, Dad? I hope so.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, DAD.

I love you!