Dad humor at its best

People’s core personality traits are revealed during stressful moments, especially during disastrous situations. My dad’s response to our family’s disaster has impacted me and so many others for a lifetime. My dad always had a great sense of humor. The most genuine person with the purest soul, he often was hilariously funny without intending to be. Sometimes, in his naive honesty, he’d say something so horribly awkward the resulting hilarity would be legend. Most of the time he was just blurting out what was on his mind and in his heart. The result was the positivity and lightheartedness of an innocent reaction to any given situation. It was the best part of my dad. Without his wonderful quirky responses to life, I wouldn’t be the person I am. I inherited his optimism and ability to seek out the joy in moments of stress and despair. His unfiltered honesty and unbridled enthusiasm endeared him to all – especially me, who he called his favorite daughter; of course, I’m also his only daughter.

Dad was an accountant and most of these situations were a result of interactions with his clients or other professionals. My family has many favorite stories of a classic Harold moments. Several occurred during the time when my dad worked with our regional school district’s administrative offices. He’d needed additional paperwork for an intense review in preparation for an upcoming audit. My dad was an extremely handsome man. Women loved to tease him because he was often oblivious to their playful flirtations. Of note, one day a group of women were gathered in the breakroom. As he entered, they all greeted him warmly. The elderly secretary of the group let him through the gathering of ladies to the file room. My dad had requested a certain archive and the secretary directed him to the file in question. Little did he know the secretary had put potpourri in this specific cabinet to keep the room smelling fresh. As he opened it, he experienced a rush of pleasant scents, flooding his senses. Without thinking, my dad exclaimed “Oh! Your drawers smell so nice!” I should take a moment here for those not native to southern slang. Down here the word drawers is synonymous with undergarments so you might imagine how appalled the elderly lady was when it sounded like he was complementing the scent of her panties. As always, my dad initially couldn’t understand why the ladies in the adjacent break room howled in laughter as the secretary’s face burned red in embarrassment. After that, there was no recovery. He hurriedly stammered “File drawers! File drawers!” a few times then quickly took his leave. I’ve heard numerous people tell the story over the years and it’s still funny – more so because I know my dad.

One story that only my dad or my mom told was about the time they had a particularly embarrassing encounter with one of the school nurses. Back in those days, school district nurses wore stereotypical 1950s nurse uniforms, complete with crisp white uniform dress, white nylons and white shoes, and the heavily starched white nurses’ cap. My dad loved to spend time with family as much as possible outside of tax season, so he accompanied my mom for grocery shopping. As they perused the items on the shelf, the school nurse spotted my dad as she rounded the isle endcap. She called out in greeting and went to eagerly introduce her husband to my parents. Initially, my dad didn’t recognize the lady. As they came closer, and he realized who she was, my dad happily waved and (according to my mom) yelled “Oh! Hi! I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on!” When the stunned couple stopped, mortified at the implication, my dad realized the unintended vulgarity of his remark. True to his character, he fumbled to attempt to clarify himself and stuttered “out of your nurse’s uniform…street clothes! Clothes! You’re in clothes!” Completely amused, the couple good heartedly chatted for a few moments before heading to finish their shopping. My mother always reacted the same way; an amused eye roll, a loving sideways grin and a deep helpless sign. Sometimes if the person seemed especially embarrassed, she would comment later how she could have pinched my dad’s head off and told God he died. Her quips at his shenanigans were clear, she couldn’t truly be angry with such a beautiful innocent soul.

Of course, there was one time where my mom did become irritated at his reaction. My dad had moved his office to a bank building. A few offices down the hall from his accounting firm, there was a beautiful redhead who let it be known that she was newly single and attracted to my dad. By then, my sister-in-law worked as a one of my dad’s employees. He was sitting in a lobby chair chatting with my sister-in-law while he waited for my mom to meet him for lunch. Ever emboldened and focused on who she wanted, the redhead stopped by to say hello. Enthralled to see an opportunity, the redhead went straight to my dad and plopped down on his lap. In a flustered, knee-jerk reaction, my dad stood up and in one swift move, pushed the woman off his lap causing the buxom beauty to bounce a few times on her bottom from the hard landing. As he moved to get her off him, he shrieked in a broken voice “my wife doesn’t allow me to do that!” When my mother arrived a few minutes later, the flirtatious woman had recovered and regrouped. As my shocked mother and sister-in-law looked on, the woman sauntered up to my dad again in one last attempt before taking her leave. She ran her hand under my dad’s suit lapel and up his chest seductively and purred “you sure do look nice today.” Never one to back down, my mom bristles and removed the woman’s hand from her husband’s chest and said “yes, this is the suit I laid out on our bed this morning because it’s my favorite.” The woman left in defeat. My mother was furious at her audacity and when she heard what my dad said just prior, she was irritated that he hadn’t declared his commitment but stated his wife wouldn’t allow any fooling around. Her irritation didn’t last long; my dad loved her, and she knew it. Or perhaps her negative emotion was assuaged by the mental image of the would-be seducer plummeting to the floor.

I remember all these stories vividly as either my mom or dad entertained family and guests with their retelling. While I know it all happened, I heard it all second hand. My most precious memory, the most exemplary of who my dad was, is my comprehensive memory of how my dad behaved when the house I grew up in burned to the ground. On a hot, holiday weekend back when I was a young adult, a fateful call came from my grandmother. She screamed, sobbing into the phone, “The house is burning! It’s on fire! It’s burning down!” At the time I’d only been an independent adult for just over a year. My mother had gone to the hardware store to purchase items to repair a leaky faucet and my dad had gone to his office to pick up work to complete during the long weekend. I saw the fearsome sight miles before I was anywhere near our front gate. The angry billowing blackness filled the sky. As I drove up the driveway, I saw the small rural firetruck losing the battle to save the house and my sobbing grandparents and mother clinging to each other. My dad was nowhere in sight. As I went to hug my mom and grandparents, I saw my dad come strolling around the corner of the inferno. He’d calmly hitched his truck to his little fishing boat and pulled it from the blaze and quickly ducked in a back door to grab whatever he could. He saved the only thing within in arm’s length of the door, a little TV. It seemed a bit bizarre because my dad really wasn’t a TV watcher, but he knew we liked it and it was the only item safely within reach. At this point you need to be aware of a few things. I grew up on a farm, most of which was what we refer to in East Texas as sugar sand. The driveway was arduously long, and the house sat centralized on the sixty acres. The first two small-tank firetrucks successfully entered the gate and made it to the house. They were the only two. After that, truck after truck that tried to climb the hill that led to the house, became hopelessly stuck in the deep, soft sand. When the second truck arrived, it seemed some hope of salvation existed. That is, until the first few pops resounded, and everyone took cover in alarm. Why? Because there were many explosives in the house, and nobody knew which pop was dangerous. Only those who’ve suffered though or fought a housefire truly realized how many common household items are explosive. Everything from hairspray and bug spray to components of refrigerators can blow in the extreme heat. Our house had additional mystery gifts. My brothers had left multiple sacks of fireworks in their room when they left for college and my dad had many cases of ammunition for his rifle and handgun. Since my brothers had moved off and my dad didn’t hunt much, there was a significant amount of each stockpile. For safety reasons, everyone had to take cover. My dad recognized the finality of the situation. He hugged my mother, whispered in her ear, kissed her, went straight to his truck and much to everyone’s amazement, he left. I don’t remember anything but feeling traumatized during the time he was gone. My grandparents and mother were also beside themselves. Everyone watched in silence as the house continued to burn. We were all distraught and we were all feeling sick from the loss and from the heat exposure. It was 101 degrees that day, so the firemen began to take off their coats and lay on the ground, all of them near heat exhaustion. When my dad returned within the hour, he briskly jumped from his truck and jovially beckoned the firemen to cool themselves. When he realized there was nothing that could be done, his reaction was to care for those around him. He’d gone to a big-box store and purchased two massive coolers, filled them with ice, water, and electrolyte drinks. I remember being so proud. That was my dad – he was losing everything, and his reaction was to be caring to those around him. It took almost four hours for the house to burn. When it was over, the fire had burned to the cement slab and none of the brick walls remained. The fire had been so hot that it melted silverware and glass. Nothing was left. After a house burns, its occupants must find someplace to go. If someone is fortunate enough to have insurance, they must speak with a representative to arrange for temporary housing and to initiate a claim. Another thing that happens after a fire is the fire marshal comes to investigate and determine if the fire was accidental or arson. One question they ask every fire victim is “Did you set your house on fire?” That question prompted a classic Harold response “If I did, don’t you think I would’ve gotten my toothbrush!? Or a pair of clean underwear?” In the weeks and months that followed, my dad not only took the devastation in stride, but he was also purposefully ebullient about the chaos that comes with losing everything. He saw their lack of comprehensive insurance and newfound debt as an opportunity to learn valuable lessons. And the best thing about that horrible event was how my dad behaved around people – both friends and strangers alike! The night of the fire, my parents went to the local Walmart to purchase toiletries and some clothes to wear. My dad, grinning from ear to ear, stepped up to the cashier and waved his toothbrush like a five-year-old that had been allowed to get a toy.

“Look! I got a new blue toothbrush!”

The cashier hesitated not knowing how to react to a grown man showing off a toothbrush. “OK?” By the look on her face, she was exhausted and in no mood for such non-sense.

“Yeah! Our house burned to the ground, and nobody was home! We’re safe and you had my favorite toothbrush! And I got new t-shirts and pants…new shampoo…”

He broke her; the cashier smiled. It was as if his goofiness melted away the tension of her mundane job.

That opened the floodgates. From then on someone would complement his tie and he would respond “Thanks! I just got it…I got new underwear too!”

His excitement upon meeting someone was infectious. His ability to time his jolly exclamations was uncanny. I’ve never seen him get a negative response. Even when he said the wrong thing, it was right because he was relatable and endearing. His affinity for people was so genuine, people felt it and responded likewise. It didn’t matter if it was a cashier, a sanitation worker, one of his grandchildren, or a random passerby. People just knew he was happy to see them and share a part of himself. Throughout my dad’s eighty-five years he remained good-natured. I’m so grateful to have a fraction of his charismatic personality and positive outlook. Having the ability to go through life’s pressures and seeing them as opportunities creates a resiliency. Embracing our own awkwardness makes us approachable. While many of us remember amusing things my dad said, the best thing about him was the way he made everyone feel – happy.