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Donald Anderson
In Memory of
Donald M
Anderson
2018
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Dad

I lost a friend On Sunday, I lost the dearest friend I had. My father, Don Anderson, passed at the age of 89, about one month short of his 90th birthday. A month ago we were talking about him living well into his 90s, and today my brother and I are talking about what day to bury him with my mother who died 6 years ago. Life is a cruel mistress, who should not be taken lightly. In the end, my father was ready to join my mother. We talked about it, and we agreed his time had come. The fall that broke his hip 3 weeks ago, and the subsequent surgery was more than his body could take. He had other age related issues but he was as sharp as a tack before the fateful fall. I am a sensitive man, and a man who has no problem admitting that he cries. But Ive cried more in the last 25 days than Id like to admit. Let me tell you about the man was as my father and friend. My father was a real Renaissance Man. By vocation he was a successful salesman. His salesmanship paid for a lot of tips he and my mother would take. But of all the places theyd go, they always wanted to go back to Hawaii. And boy did they ever. 8 to 10 times including the trip in 1987 when they took the whole family. 11 of us went, including my Aunt and my grandmother. What a time that was! Work for my dad just paid the bills. What he really enjoyed, besides his kids and eventual grandchildren, was creating things. My father was an artist. And not your average artist. I remember seeing cartoons he drew as a teenager. He taught himself to play the accordion and organ. Then it was on the photography. His eye for a good picture led him to work for the Stars and Stripes newspaper at the tail end of WW II. He didnt see real action, but his pics told the story of the carnage of war. When he returned from war, he worked in a photo store until kids forced him to get that real job. But he never lost his eye for a good pic. Early pics of me and my brother, morphed into the best pics I have of my children. I remember the darkroom we always had in the basement of wherever we lived. I still have that ancient enlarger he used, and remember him trying to teach me how to used it. Sometime in the late 50s, he decided he was going to learn to fly. He had that passion right up to the end. One of his best friends is an airline pilot and together they rebuilt a Seabee seaplane. Thats right! They rebuilt a plane. I think they started with 2 and turned it into one. I remember in the early 60s, when we lived in Grand Rapids, MI, he brought home a barn find. It was a 1940 Fairchild. Boy was that plane big. Into the garage that plane went. All in pieces. Off came the old faded fabric skin. Over several years, he worked on that plane. I dont have any idea how he knew what he was doing, but damned if he didnt get it airworthy. He flew that plane for many years. In 1966, new opportunities brought us to Ohio. Along came the Fairchild. Im not sure how it got to Ohio, but it wouldnt surprise me if he flew it there. Over the years he rebuilt several planes in our garage. Boy did the paint he used stink up the neighborhood. He called it dope. Im pretty sure they called it that because being around it too long would surely make you high. One of the last planes he helped rebuild was a plane a Finish woman was going to use to fly from the US to her home in Finland. At some point, he decided he wanted to learn to paint pictures. He settled in on using a palette knife to apply the paint. He spend hours in the basement making pictures. Most to give away to others. You see, almost everything my dad did was to brighten someone elses life. Thats just who he was. But what did I learn from him? The list is too long and my memory to foggy to remember everything. In elementary school for a science fair he helped me build a workable box camera. In 1966, he somehow got me tickets to my first rock concert. The Beatles in Municipal stadium He took me to the first Monday Night football game Browns vs Jets, and he didnt even like football He encouraged both me and my brother to learn to fly and even provided the Piper Cub to learn in. I got as far as soloing but never got a license. Somehow, landing that darn thing made me nervous. He continually told me I had artistic talent, but who was I to listen to him. It wasnt until much later in life that I accepted that maybe I did have some talent. When my kids reached junior high, I started drawing simple pictures on their lunch bags. Every night after dinner. For 10 years I drew those bags, and watched them go from simple pictures to intricate, Keith Haring inspired graffiti art. Today, some of those bags are framed and hanging in my house and other peoples houses. I guess I just liked giving them away to people, too. 6 or 7 years ago, I took up glass blowing. Even in the early years he would ask what I made and Id show him the crude thick pieces and hed encourage me. As I got better at it, he bought me a lighting stage and box to take pics of the glass. I think he liked that I was taking pictures of them as much as he liked the piece itself. I am the artist I am today because of the talents he had and passed down to me. The same talent I may have passed to my daughter, Leigh. I should have listened to him earlier in life, It wasnt until my mom developed Dementia that I realized what a friend he was to me. Up to that time he was just my dad. I was more of a Mamas boy. Or so I thought. But when my mom eventually went into a nursing home, and he had to live alone, I saw my dad as a real man struggling to live on his own. Every Sunday, Id take him to see her. Wed pick up a frosty from Wendys for mom and off wed go for a couple of hours. In the end of her struggle, I dont think she knew who we were, but she loved that frosty. When she died, a bit of his joy for life died too. But he tried not to let others see that. And like before, every Sunday Id go over to visit him, grocery shop for him, buy him some cheap scotch or gin(after all he was an artists and all artists have their vices). Over time, he claimed he had difficulty shaving so I started shaving him. Boy, hed lather on the Old Spice afterwards. Shaving led to haircuts too. About a year and a half ago, he decided it was Nursing Home time for him too. He could still function well, but he needed people around him. He was a people person and he loved telling jokes at the meals and knowing everyone there. And he knew all the aides there too. Id visit him twice a week, razor and hair clippers in hand. Id take him some Banana Bread(my moms recipe and from bananas hed given me the week before) or cookies, tapioca or something else for him to snack on. As long as Id made it, hed love eating it. I think he could really shave himself but he just like our time together. And so did I. More than I thought I would. I think I will miss that the most. Over the last few years we became closer and closer. Hed cheer me up when I was down. Hed lift my spirits and tell me to stay positive. Life would get better. Im still waiting for that part. It doesnt feel like it right now and may take me some time to get past him not being around. Ive gotten back my Sunday afternoons, but Id give them up In a second, to spend one more with him. I miss my friend.
Posted by Mark Anderson
Tuesday July 24, 2018 at 2:59 pm
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