January 7, 2012 · 9:39 am

Kennedy, table for three

As I was making restaurant reservations last night, it got me to thinking about how Dad would change our last name if we had to check-in and wait for a table at a restaurant. This didn’t happen too often, as we mainly ate out at fast food joints, where there was no wait and no reservation required.

Interior of The Red Chile. It hasn't changed! Photo credit: Ai M., Yelp

But there was one Mexican restaurant we used to frequent, The Red Chile in Cerritos, Calif. and it was often packed when we went and we would have to wait awhile for a table. (I just Googled it and it is still going strong, and people still wait for an hour for a table!) My parents were particular about where they wanted to sit (not too close to the front) and since we were semi-regulars, the staff learned to humor my parents. We pretty much ordered the same thing each time as we were creatures of habit. My mom ordered the chile relleno, my dad a burrito, and until I was older, I would just get refried beans with cheese and a side of tortillas. It was the only time I ever got real butter and I loved slathering it on the warm, soft tortillas and how the melted butter greased my fingers as I bit into a folded tortilla.

But back to our name. My dad was obsessed with the Kennedy family. He read numerous tomes about their lives and could make your eyes glaze over with his litany of Kennedy tales that he could recite at the drop of a hat. And if you wanted to make my dad mad, just say something critical of the Kennedy clan. He was not fond of his last name because he didn’t think it sounded “Irish enough.” So when he would put our name down on the waiting list, he always wrote, “Kennedy” instead of “Johnston.” He then would quickly depart outside to smoke a cigarette, leaving my mom and I to remember that we were “Kennedys” at least for the duration of the meal.

As I became a typical surly teenager, I would blow our cover to the restaurant hostess. “Our name is actually Johnston,” I would say as she led us to our table. I’m sure she didn’t care what our name was, as long as we paid.

Dad, I guess you can go by whatever name you please wherever you are now. No reservations required, and no waiting lists ever.

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January 6, 2012 · 5:55 am

Dad’s love of walking

Some of my fondest memories growing up is going to the park together as a family. In fact, this was our typical weekend excursion. We’d walk and walk, with dad and I leaving mom in the dust, our long legs striding much faster than hers. She’d call out to us to wait for her, and we’d laugh and slow down. Sometimes.

Dad and I posing together at the park.

That’s why it was difficult to see my dad in the assisted living facility, where he struggled to walk. His gait became unsteady, and he lurched along the hallways like a zombie. He also fell several times, which usually resulted in a trip to the ER and an alarming call to us in the middle of the night. On our visits, my mom and I had to be at his side to steady him as we walked slowly around the grounds of the facility.

I still love to walk. It’s my main mode of transportation and exercise. I find it also to be a great way to relieve stress. I live near a park and since my father’s death, have gone many times, walking the trails and circling the lake where dozens of ducks reside. It reminds me of my dad but in a good way.

Dad, if there are streets in the afterlife I know you are out there strolling along them in quick, confident strides.

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January 5, 2012 · 5:53 am

Dad’s fear of bugs

An odd little incident at work the other day made me think of my dad. A ladybug appeared on my desk and proceeded to be my assistant for the rest of the day. It crawled around my desk, then attached itself to my coffee mug. They are supposed to be lucky so I let it hang out, even though I wonder how it made it to the 6th floor. I guess the elevator like the rest of us?

Anyways, it made me think of dad and his dislike of bugs. Picnics in California with him were spent with him slapping the air every time a winged insect entered his no-fly zone. I think he spent more time slashing the air with his arms like a windmill than actually enjoying the food. It drove my mom crazy, who was raised on a farm where she dealt with a wide variety of living creatures every day.

But I’m more like my dad. Oh, sure, cute little ladybugs don’t strike fear in my heart, and anything slow, like worms, is given a pass. But the big, fast-moving creatures, your spiders and roaches, those will send me screaming for help every time.

Anyways, as I observed the ladybug on my desk, I thought how ironic it would be if dad had been reincarnated as a bug. Dad, as long as you’re a ladybug, I won’t swat at or step on you, I promise.

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January 4, 2012 · 3:39 pm

What The Memories Project is about

 

Dad and I at the La Villa Assisted Living facility in Roswell, NM in March 2011.

My father, Patrick Johnston, passed away December 20, 2011 in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He was 79 years old and suffered from dementia. The last few years were extremely difficult for him and his family. I am his only child, and my parents’ 40th anniversary was less than a month before he passed away. His departure, while still sad, also was marked with relief, as over the final year of his life, he suffered more than was necessary.

As I sift through the various stages of grief, what stands out the most are the memories of my father, both good and bad. There are also things I would like to know, and I wish I had asked him while he still had his memory, but alas, it was too late for that even long before he died.

The Memories Project is my tribute to my father. I will post daily memories of my father here over the next year. Sometimes it may be just a snippet, other times a longer entry. A memory may be awakened by something I saw or heard that particular day. It may be a song lyric, or a photograph. I want to collect all of the memories and stories I remember about my dad, preserve them and share them with anyone who’s interested in reading them.

I hope The Memories Project serves as inspiration for others to gather and preserve memories and stories of their loved ones now, because you never know when it will be too late.

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