My Greatest Lifetime Influence(s)

When communist Russia wanted to introduce the potato to the peasants as an inexpensive food supply the peasants balked. So, in it's "Big Brother, Commie" way of thought control it introduced the potato in a way which made it more appealing. They built a very large fence around the crop and the peasants upon seeing this, of course, "scaled the fence, stole the potatoes and "viola!!" the rest is history!

In America...credit card companies!!! Hey, know where I'm going?! Can anyone remember a time when one had to have outstanding credit to get a card? Well, when they found that interest rates were the way to earn great masses of revenue they made a pact with the money lending institutions of this great land and decided the EASIEST way to make money was to go to the source...18 years of age, credit card, new wheels and a college student...FULL TIME!! "Holycow!!!" I digress.

Growing up...(wow, WTF!? Now growing Old?!!?)...in rural Michigan, man, how great it was! How naive we were! A time of magic, a time of fear, skepticism, awe and the passing of each day was a step toward a future of unprecidented ideas, ideals and technology. My god! Who would've ever considered a "Cell Phone" as the most dominant item in worldwide communication?! Sorry, giving away the age thing here. And "NO! We didn't walk 40 miles to school, barefoot in winter!" But, how did we survive those times "of impending change"? Our Parents. In particular, my Father. Yes, I know, "What about your Mother", you ask? Well, it's kinda like this....

My Father was somewhat of an enigma to me. He was seldom home (always working) and when he was, he was (for want of a better description) well, sometimes scary, sometimes loving, sometimes strict and sometimes slack. For most of it though I remember this about him as the "greatest influence in my life".

He was "Bohemian". He loved life! He loved his friends! He loved our Mother! And he adored Honour and Chivalry! It was He who taught me from a young age as to how a gentleman should treat a lady. How one was to greet a woman, open a door, a car door, etc., these were the MOST important things a young man should know. Without it, well, one becomes a part of a growing lot not keen to these qualities.

My Father had a great many friend. His passions were the latent inspirations for many desiring to live their lives beyond a mainline focal point, thus the parties, the travels to others' parties, always somewhere, sometime. His passions also were for his fellow man. Where others might stand mute to injustice he dared to question and oftentimes, react. However, before I continue, let me describe my Father to you, dear Readers.

Art (Arthur) was a "tall" man standing a skyscraping height of 5 feet 5 inches! He told me (I stand 5'6") when I was a young lad to "never look down" and always look a "tall" man in the eye, it "makes you an equal". To this day I have enjoyed my height and have never wished to be taller..."why?!" He was a robust man, at one time tipping the "scales" at a mean 210! Where was Richard Simmons? (my Mother's cooking didn't help). As a young man he was a "Golden Gloves Boxer". One story he related to me was the time he and his "buddies" bought an old Packard (automobile) with his "winnings" from boxing and travelled for a couple weeks, if they needed extra cash my father earned it by boxing at the local arenas, winning each time.

He was a young man during the Second World War and was denied recruitment, because of his high blood pressure. It was with a lot of regret his friends went to war and he couldn't. I have a few of the postcards his wartime friends sent back from their stint in the Pacific. Several have the Hawaiian King's palace in the background.

My father's passion for life ran strong. His feelings for our mother were just as strong and sometimes tumultuous. I remember some of the "logic" he would try to pass along to me about relationships; the good days were, "When I die give your mother flowers every week to let her know how wonderful she is." On the other hand the bad days were, "Never get married and teach your Kids the same thing." (I seem to have followed the latter to some extent). Their relationship was like "Ricky and Lucy"! However, despite the "ups and downs", we children grew up with a deep respect for our parents. That respect was sometimes brought about by my father's leather belt AFTER the thin branch my mother used to reinforce that said "respect". Back then, spankings and physical punishment were a way of life. "What happened?"

Some of the memorable things about my father were his humor and his compassion for his fellow man. The humor could've been a "practical joke", or his way of doing things. One in particular, I remember how he trained our German Shepherd to wear sunglasses. Every other Saturday as my father drove his Studebaker pickup truck into town the German Shepherd would be sitting upright in the seat with the sunglasses on. I swear, that dog felt proud to be doing that! His passion for others was a large virtue which extended to his friend, "Willie". Let me describe "Willie".

"Willie" was a very simple-minded man. As children we found as somewhat of an anomalie. He was like Us, only a "Grownup". Willie lived in a one-room shack with a coal-fired stove and a coal-fired furnace (I kid you not). So it was that Willie was constantly dirty from the soot of the coal (bad circulation), smelled of coal and his food was probably the same with the odor and oils from the coal. He had no bath, just a sink to bathe from. He had a hand-pump to draw water from a well (thank god this was indoors) and he had an outside toilet! Frankly, this man was POOR! My father became one of Willie's best friends. I remember my mother reluctantly giving into my father's insistance that Willie come to our home for an occassional meal. And I do remember the "one and only" time Willie had a decent bath was from our tub (which our mother scoured the porcelain off afterwards) and a clean set of clothes (she bleached the washer, too). Willie looked like a "new man".

Willie lived from a small allowance of our great government (I say that sarcastically, because the State would occassionally F...UP his payment....how?!) which barely supported him. So, if the check was not there Willie didn't eat (aside from trapping woodchucks and eating small fish from a reservoir that was filled by a stream which came directly through a pig farmers land). The day came when Willie (whom NEVER EVER begged) came to my father asking for a "sandwich". Willie broke into tears, because he was embarrassed. My father, enraged by the fact the man was already "ragged-poor" grabbed Willie, put him in the Studebaker (the dog sat between the two WITH sunglasses), drove to town and bought Willie enough food to have a feast. My father was generous that way much to my mother's chagrin (we were not the most affluent family on the block thanks to my father's sense of Independence).

Willie got sick, very sick (it was a matter of time due to the man's living conditions) and was hospitalised. He never left the hospital. It was the first time I saw my father cry. I was astounded then, but I know why now...passion. Willie was like a brother to him and my father protected him as a "Big Brother". The second time I saw my father cry I had to leave the room. My father's past time and hobby was collecting beer cans and beer bottles. I remember being awakened by a crash in the middle of the night. I ran downstairs to my father's bar and saw him "crying like a baby" over shattered bottles and crushed cans (I left so as not to be seen laughing,..GRAVE mistake had I been caught).

I could write so many things about "the Man", but my fingers would grow numb. Some good, some bad, but all about a young boy trying to grow up in his father's image. And that was where my father and I drifted briefly apart. I believe it is the responsibilty of every father's son to give the "ol' man" shit while growing up! Young boys "know it all"! Hell, testosterone RULES our world, WE ARE INVINCIBLE! Therefore, we rebel against the "ol' Man". I regret those times. So many times I should have been listening to my father instead of listening to "?" who knows what. However, I did change as well as my father. The circumstances I wish could have been different, but we did bond.

My father suffered a severe Stroke. So severe his Doctor declared him a "vegetable" and wrote him off. We took him home where my sister, brother, mother and I would try to work with him with the best "physical therapy" we could muster in those days. Since I was in school (college) I remained at home so I could be with my father. I worked with him every night until the day came he said he wanted to go to work. We had arranged with his employer a short work schedule in which I could take my father to work and sometimes pick him up afterwards. **This is important; back then I was one of those "longhaired Hippies" that most men like my father denounced, mine tolerated me. As my father and I grew closer I "started to change" Somewhere inside I felt the need to please him rather than rebel. The following day as I was to take my father to work I surprised him, I cut my hair. Mind you, it was a supreme sacrifice! It was half way down my back. And then, "it was short"....

As we pulled into the parking lot of my father's workplace I helped him from my VW Bug (he tolerated the VW) as he always did. When I turned to get back into my car he said, "Come with me." We walked together into the building and as the men came to greet him (as they always did from RESPECT and ADMIRATION) he announced to them, "Everybody, this is my Son." He was so f.....g proud of me cutting my hair for him! I was floored! And I was proud of him! Here was a man who worked his entire life for his family shot down by a devastating Stroke, back to what made him feel whole again, WORK. After all, he was a decendant of Vikings and it was an honour to go into Valhalle with your Sword!

One night I heard the TV still on in his bedroom. It was very late and my concern was maybe he had fallen asleep with it on. I opened the door to his room, my mother fast asleep and my father sitting on the edge of his bed with a strange look, almost fearful, on his face. I asked him if he was okay and he said he "had a bad dream". I tucked him back to bed and retired for the next day. The following morning as I was ready to take my father to work he expressed to me that my mother was taking him. The look upon his face concerned me, something was not right. I looked at him and for the first time in my life I told him, "I love you." (you have to understand that the Lidecker Clan is not the most expressive of families). My father cried for the third time in his life as well as I, something was wrong. During one of my Art classes I heard a phone ringing in a nearby office and deep inside I knew it was for me. The woman came out calling my name. I picked up the receiver and from the other side was my girlfriend's broken voice explaining my father had died. "He knew." He knew it was "his" time.

I look back over the years and with his passing I am constantly reminded he has never left me. I am his "prototype", proginy, clone. I have become my father. Maybe, I always was. And I look at my son, James, destined to be Me. Scary. I see in him my "Double", his ideals, appearance, tastes,..exactly like mine. I just hope he strays from the more "Bohemian" side of me! So far, so good. Its strange, this life. What is it exactly We are looking for and why? DNA certainly rules the next generation as well as a mother and a father has influence upon our lives. And yet, maybe it is My Life that has to fulfill the expectations my father gave to "himself" and fell short of. I sometimes wonder that of my son as I see him now and where he "can be".

In short, "HA HA!" no pun intended, my Father's influence eludes me! "I still don't KNOW what I want to be when I grow up!"

Thank you, dear Readers for listening. Love your Parents, they hold the "Book" which they will pass on to you someday. PEACE.

And to my "Older Offspring" Seth and Audrey, I apologise using your Brother as the "only" sibling metaphor in this blog. Look at it this way, "you two certainly ARE better looking!" :) ...shit's gonna hit d'fan!