Dad’s legacy lives on in memory

Take it from one who lived with an alien dad for 18 years, the phrase “Men are from Mars” is true. Dads talk to their kids in a dialect straight from the “X-Files,” and now that Father’s Day is almost here, it’s time to set the alien dad facts straight.

Being from Mars gives dads an advantage over those in the Venus hemisphere because …

1. Martian technology provides dads with an obscure wavelength that links up with their kids via a strange yet meaningful language;

2. A mysterious burp in the universe has allowed this language to survive cosmic storms, black holes and the span of time.

These facts were conveyed to me through the universal alien code of hand gestures, grunts, pointing and mumbled explanations that are indigenous to dads and go back to the days when primal grunting was the sole form of guy-speak.

In fact, nary a day goes by without the use of this strange dialect throughout the Inland Northwest, especially in our humble garage nestled in the Spokane Valley.

Father and son hammer away on another car project when the alien language begins. One points, the other grunts, one shakes his head, the other grunts, one points again, they both grunt in unison.

But they’re amateurs compared to my dad. He was the king of grunt and point, the inventor of the mumbled explanation.

For example, Dad’s ability to cart home ugly Christmas trees was legendary.

Every holiday my brothers and I watched him drag a sparse bush into the living room. His tree schemes defied explanation but if questioned, a mumbled “humph” escaped that, when translated into English, meant, “Sure it’s ugly. What’s your point?”

We decorated the pathetic evergreen with bulbs, lights and a ton of tinsel. When done, Dad beamed with pride — not from the dazzling transformation, but in the price he paid. “That tree only cost me a buck!” he’d say, cigarette dancing on his lips.

But Dad’s true claim to fame centered on how he worked the dinner table.

He’d sit at the table, mouth stuffed, when a tasty tidbit called to him. Our ears perked up when we heard the fork drop to the plate. Dad propped his elbows on the table, adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and began pointing.

Like trained seals, we held up food until we found the right dish. This was evidenced by an approving grunt and pass-it-down wave of his hand.

As we became wise to the Martian ways, we’d mimic Dad to his chagrin. He never realized that a legacy was in the works, from his pointing and grunting to his preference for ugly and cheap trees. Soon, our theatrics gave way to laughter with Dad laughing the loudest.

Those were the good old days.

You never know when life’s going to throw a curve ball. You just never know.

A week after I graduated from high school, Dad died. It wasn’t a sudden death but even when you know, well, you never know.

Gone was that quick step, quirky sense of humor, the alien language, the odd grunt-and-point dinners and hideous Christmas trees. Gone were the chances to make memories, to know his grandkids, to be a shoulder to lean on.

What remained was his legacy.

Many years have passed and although get-togethers with my siblings are few, those times always include a recitation of tree stories and a slapstick rendition of our trained-seal response in memory of Dad’s quest for the holy grub. Laughter is abundant as are the tears.

So on this Father’s Day, it’s time to remind the dads in the Inland Northwest to gather up those odd Martian traits — be it a saying, anecdote, a tradition — and begin a legacy.

Then bolster that legacy with memories — hugs, pats on the back, a thumbs-up, and follow with doses of laughter. Keep the dad pressure on kids to do their best even when they’re adults.

Be part of your grandchildren’s lives because kids need their dads and dads need their kids and grandkids need both.

Because, you never know.