When my father retired over a decade ago, he immediately began to drive my mother crazy. Soon after, he suffered a mild stroke, and that's when he began to drive the entire family crazy.
Always an adventurous, happy-go-lucky sort of guy, his stroke curbed his wanderlust a bit and transformed his laughter so that sometimes it erupted without warning. Suddenly, he became even more interested in food, television, and other people's business (in that order), and my mother resorted to leaving him without funds lest he while away the afternoon at his favorite donut haunt.
His tool-bench sign declares "Junqueologist," and he's a well-know personality during yard-sale season. His mission is to buy every object priced at 50 cents. My mother spends each Monday throwing out his "finds" as the garbage men shake their heads in awe. One year, my mother had a yard sale to get rid of the stash she found squirreled away—she earned enough for a Caribbean cruise.
He hates antiques and can't imagine why anyone would pay 300 bucks for a rocker that needs paint. What turns him on is anything that's in its original box or package—and if it still has its original price tag, he positively gets goose bumps.
Last summer he bought 7 bicycles, 9 rakes, 3 games of croquet, 5 snow shovels, 18 assorted coffee mugs, 1 popcorn popper, 3 pairs of men's ice skates, 2 nonstick frying pans, 1 straw sombrero, 4 Frisbees, and 2 pairs of men's sneakers size 10 (he wears an 11).
With three TVs in the house (two purchased at yard sales), my father varies his watching according to the sun's rotation around each room. He now enjoys such classics as "The Rockford Files" and "Gunsmoke" and never misses his daily installment of "Highway to Heaven."
Sometimes I listen to breathless descriptions of what's happened, but he forgets to tell me that it's from the tube. I almost called the cops one night after he told me three shots had been fired and that a neighbor hid a rifle in the garage.
His newest entertainment is touring EXPENSIVE properties that are for sale. He thrills at private showings that are absolutely free. Freshly shaved and showered, he appears promptly for each pilgrimage, often knowing more than the brokers about each property and its succession of various owners.
Recently, my father shoved a scribbled phone number in my face and asked me to make an appointment to see a mansion 10 minutes away. Feeling guilty for the broker who was wasting her time, I dutifully reviewed the property's listing sheet and asked semi-intelligent questions during the showing.
My father, happy as a clam at high tide, was still not satisfied, so he proceeded to walk into the neighbor's yard, unfazed by the ADT security signs posted along the fence. The broker's face had a pained look as she watched him saunter down the neighbor's drive.
Panicking when he began to peek into the neighbor's windows, I tried to divert her attention by asking about the gardens. As he limped his way around the entire property, he stuck his nose into every window of the house as the broker and I stood speechless and watched with our mouths open. Then, hearing the deep barks of the owner's dog, my father became surprisingly nimble as he made a beeline to safer ground.
The tour ended by viewing a spectacular three-bay garage that had been carved out of the property's hillside. This underground vault also contained an impressive climate-controlled wine cellar. A small box of garbage sat by the garage door, and I watched in horror as my father began to pick through the box's contents. At this point the broker looked at me in astonishment. Shrugging my shoulders I confessed, "It's a hobby."
My beloved father lost his battle with cancer on Dec. 6, 2007. I will always smile remembering him.
Humorist and freelance scribe Joyce Faiola is a consultant for the hospitality industry and lives in Connecticut. Cartoonist Bob Larsen is a professional artist in the Boston area.
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