My dad worked for a company called Johnson Motors in Waukegan, Illinois for a good thirty years. I remember my mom would take my brother and I down to the lakefront (Lake Michigan, to be exact) to wait for Dad to get off of work. There was a picnic table near the canal the ships bringing supplies in would enter and exit from. I watched, utterly fascinated, as these huge ships would glide slowly by. I always called out and waved to anyone that was on board, and I was always thrilled if I got a smile and a wave in response.
On one particular warm summers day, Mom had taken us kids to a local hobby shop. My brother picked out a clear plastic model of a heart that would pump 'blood' when you squeezed a bulb. He made the mistake of opening the box while we were outside waiting for our dad, and he lost the packet of dye that came with the model. It made him so mad that I don't believe he ever attempted to put it together, and forty years later, we have it still...box and all.
Eventually, the whistle would sound, and a sea of workers would flood out of the plant. I always watched for Dad, and he would appear, shirt and hair soaked in sweat, carrying his domed metal lunchbox with the Johnson Outboards stickers on it by it's black, plastic handle. I would learn as I got older that the temperature inside the plant would easily exceed 100 degrees during the warm summer months. The first thing he always wanted was an ice-cold Old Style beer. It was the only brand of beer he would drink. Back in the day, he expected to have a cold one waiting in the car for him, and he would pull the metal tab off of the can and drink it while he drove. Sometimes, he wanted to stop at a bar to get his favorite brew in a frosted mug or glass.
Once home, he would kick back in his recliner in front of the TV to watch the news, or the 'Cubbies' if they were on. I remember him so clearly, his short black hair so neatly slicked and combed to the side, glasses perched on his nose as he scanned the TV Guide or newspaper. He always wore a white, sleeveless, crew-neck tee (not a muscle shirt, these were different) that we used to buy him from Montgomery Wards or Sears. He always wore jeans or twill pants, and he would trade his steel-toe work boots for his favorite slip-on, black mesh house shoes that had rubber soles and elastic gores.
The times that Dad was actually able to relax...those were the good times, but they never lasted for long. Dad had a volatile temper to begin with, and his medication and alcohol did not mix. Most nights, he would start a huge argument about nothing with Mom, just so he would have an excuse to storm out and go to the bar(s). He was not an easy man to live with, to be sure. Nevertheless, I manage to salvage some fond memories of my dad when I take the time to sift through all of the violence, heartache, and pain. This was one of those times...a rare, pleasant calm before the coming storm...waiting for Daddy to get off of work, watching the ships come in...
