Dad’s Parting Shot
8x10, soft pastel
There are many things that remind me of my dad so I’ve pulled out a few items from my memory box to arrange into a small still life. This is a quick study piece. I don’t know if I’ll paint it larger, in more detail, or add more pieces. But, I thought it was fitting for the final day of my shot glass series. The background...
The Barber:
Dad was a quiet man...and multifaceted...he was a bit of an enigma. He was a longtime barber in the small Iowa town we lived in along the Mississippi River and proudly owned his own shop. So, I included a shaving brush. He cared for his shop (and our home) meticulously. He could repair and/or build absolutely anything.
The Gambler:
For as many years as I can remember he was also a gambling man, drinking and playing poker quite often into the wee hours of the morning. Playing cards, dice, and a shot glass are included because they all went hand in hand. Of course high stakes poker wasn’t legal in Iowa so card games were “secretly” held in various locations. One night while playing cards (which I’m told, often included lawyers, police and a judge or two) the small “poker club” was robbed. Several younger men gained access to the room and stormed in. At gunpoint, the players were tied up and robbed. Fortunately no one was injured...except maybe their pride. You would think that would deter them...but not for long. In any event, his cards, dice and a shot glass represent those tumultuous times (“dicey shot”...or maybe we should call it “lucky shot”)
The Golfer:
Dad was also an avid golfer. He owned his own golf cart and in retirement played every day. He loved going to the golf club to play. He had at least two...maybe three hole-in-ones so I included one of his golf balls. I believe this one was his first hole-in-one (“long shot”).
The Singer:
Dad was also musically inclined. He whistled often and for a time sang in the choir at church. He sang like Perry Como, Bing Crosby, and Frank Sinatra rolled into one (ah yes, the “mad men” era). He owned several harmonicas (which my mom always called French harps). I have one of his smaller versions which I cherish.
The Hunter:
I didn’t include something representing hunting...maybe I will if I paint this again.
In his youth he was an avid hunter. Because he wasn’t very talkative (and very busy with work and “other interests”) it wasn’t easy to get to know him. As a sensitive child in a busy family of six kids, I wanted to be closer to him. So, one evening I asked if I could go deer hunting with him the following morning. To my surprise he said yes.
We woke up WAY before dawn and headed out, when we arrived at my uncle’s farm he handed me a shotgun (of all things). At ten years old, it seemed as though I was only a bit taller than that gun. I’d never shot that particular gun before...heck, I don’t think I’d shot ANY gun before except maybe a BB gun. I didn’t even WANT a gun, I thought I’d just walk along beside him.
He gave me a couple safety tips and that was all the instruction I got. Then he told me to walk through the corn field. I looked at him, at the gun, and the corn field...then back at him. Too afraid to let him down, I did what I was told. He told me not to shoot (especially in his direction) and only shoot if I had a “clear shot”. What did THAT mean? He took out in another direction around the cornfield. Oh man, this was not the father/daughter experience I had imagined!
Walking through that corn field, my heart was pounding in my ears and throat. Fear was so intense I could hardly see where I was going. As I made my way through the drying corn field (which towered at least two feet above my head) I could hear a lot of crackling, crunching noises. It was disorienting. Was that my dad? Or a deer, or several deer...? Or a corn field monster (ha!). I was prepared to shoot but fortunately didn’t (despite the overwhelming thought of being trampled by deer or worse). To my relief I finally found my dad at the end of the cornfield and later learned that he’d sent me in there to flush out the deer (if there were any). Needless to say, that was the last time I asked to go hunting. I restricted my future requests to fishing and golfing instead.
The Fisherman:
The only time dad sat still was after dinner watching the news or Bonanza or Gunsmoke. When it came to hobbies, each one became a passion for him.
Dad’s love of fishing was epic. He fished as a young boy along with his dad and brothers. He was an avid bass fisherman and was proud of his boat. He was a great cook too and often fished on the Mississippi River for catfish especially if there was going to be a big fish-fry at the golf course.
The bobber reminds me of that passion and the final day of his life. He and a golfing buddy capsized under the dam’s spillways while fishing one August morning. A lot can be said about that day but if you know the Mississippi, you know their chances of survival was almost zero. They both died doing something they enjoyed...I guess that’s not a bad way to go.
The Catholic:
And finally, the good Catholic man. Dad was not without vice...but I will say he was devote in his beliefs. I never knew him to raise his voice or harm anyone, ever. He was a “live and let live” kind of guy. He had a soft heart and was loved by many. I have his rosary which I can honestly say I don’t recall him ever using. But, no matter how late his night before was, he was always dressed in his Sunday best for church each Sunday morning. His faith, like the rosary above intertwined throughout his life, connecting all the many things that interested him.
Miss you Dad ❤️
I had a blast doing these crazy shot glass paintings during the 31 day challenge...I hope you enjoyed them too!
