It’s Fathers’ Day. You know, that time once a when you pause, slowly put down your phone, gaze awkwardly across the table at the man who raised you, and sheepishly eke out a “Hey dad… ‘sup?”.
Or, were you cursed to have had me as your child, you started off our annual Fathers’ Day rituals by receiving a lot of really strange, self-made “presents” that only a father could love (Beware any mention of “Eat this.” or “Wear this.”). Later, when money became part of the equation, I was infamous for finding the oddest gadgets clearly meant much more for me than intended for you. (“Here, let me show you how that works…” would be the last time you would ever see that gift again.) I know. The absolute worst terrible, awful, devil child. Karma is headed my way.
Truth be told, despite the little shit I was growing up, I secretly thought my dad was pretty awesome. (Just don’t ever tell him I said that.) I still do. Okay, he can be kind of loud, a touch argumentative, and maybe a bit stubborn (what our family calls the complete Bender trifecta)… but he’s also just that right amount of weird-in-a-good-way that makes him super interesting. To give you a sense of the quirkier side of my dad, consider the fact that based on the number of hours, the Weather Channel and golf were my dad’s favorite things to watch on tv, something that used to drive my best friend and I crazy. (Why was he so mesmerized by weather from around the world when he rarely traveled far from home? Did it have something to do with this golf obsession? Or was he researching places where weather was best to play golf? Plotting an exodus? This went on for hours.)
What can I say? That’s my dad. One of a kind. He also happens to be the warmest, most loving and protective Papa Bear you could ever ask for in life. My sisters and I got pretty lucky there. Like only Benders can, my dad and I have been gently ribbing each other in classic Laurel and Hardy fashion for the past 37 years, and I have to say I’m grateful for every second of it. (Though, to this day, the scariest moment in his life was probably the first time I uttered the words, “Don’t worry, I’m helping.”) I hope that him seeing me find my own Bender weirdness means he is too.
Now, since my brand of Bender weirdness is my nose, I thought this year in lieu of of macramé and gadgets, I might instead share some of my favorites olfactive memories from our time together. Going back to that earlier “I’m helping” line, it should come as no surprise that most of these memories involve time spent before, during, or after tinkering together on something in the garage, yard, or basement; guess we just bonded best when we were figuring out how things worked; we both have a fascination with solving problems and putting stuff in pieces back together. Dad crosses my mind whenever I smell…
… Barbasol shaving cream, Speed Stick deodorant, Jergen’s hand lotion, Pert Two-In-One shampoo, Safeguard soap… the scents of my father’s bathroom combining to form that dad undercoat. And if he were classing it up a bit, perhaps a splash or two of Canoe, Old Spice, or the good old staple, Stetson layered on top (thankfully, Christopher Street has now also been introduced into that mix). I must have inherited my beauty product rituals more-so from my mom and sisters (being fragrance obsessed and worried about skin care) than my dad, but perhaps this is why these particular olfactive memories remain so distinctive…
… Then there’s the scent of burning maple leaves and pine cones (Pennsylvania in the fall), or a combination of lawn mower fumes, Off bug spray, charcoal briquettes, and Michelob (summer). These are my memories from working in our yard, and instantly take me back home…
… Along with the smells of grease, motor oil, and Lava soap from fixing things in the garage and basement. Each of us had our own car, and my dad may also have had an inexplicable tractor fixation, so these aromas followed him pretty much everywhere he went…
… Now add in the scent of Armor All (since I was in charge of cleaning the car tires), Pine-Sol (dad’s favorite all-purpose cleaner), Tide and Downey (washing up happened in the laundry room). Seeing the laundry room was right next to ventilation system for the house, these particular odors tended to waft throughout the house…
… And because of him, I am eternally haunted by the smell of Cheerios. When it was finally time for him to relax, dad would kick back in the recliner, flip on the tv (… golf… TWC…), and fall asleep snacking on an industrial-sized box of Cheerios. Not being a breakfast cereal fan myself, to this day, that oat-y smell is still the easiest way to drive me out of a room twitching…
… That, or any mention of “the mystery closet smell.” That’s the stuff of nightmares (S and D, you know exactly what I’m talking about)…
Mostly, I remember the smell of his lunch box (a mix of metal, Virginia baked ham, and orange peel). Growing up, my dad worked long hours inside a steel mill, so before bed every night, my mom and I would usually catch up while packing his lunch (and dinner for those many 16-hour double shift days). It was dad decoding time.
Thinking of you today dad… I mean, ‘sup?
Happy Fathers’ Day to all of you. To help you create some lasting olfactive memories of your own (and since Sunday was always dad’s coupon clipping day), please enjoy 15% off any online order placed here at Charenton Macerations now through July 15, 2015. Just enter the code DAD2015 at checkout.
