Tag Archive for: Dad

Flaws and all

/in /by
by: Joelle Charbonneau
Last Friday was the three year anniversary of my father’s passing. That day and the events that followed feel as though they happened a decade or more ago. And yet, it feels like only yesterday that I talked to him.

I miss our talks. We didn’t talk about anything particularly deep or earth

shattering. He was my first phone call if I had a problem with a

faucet, a window screen or a water heater. He might not know how to fix it himself, but he always had a guy who did know.

Dad and I also talked about sports. Baseball, basketball, football, golf. Dad loved them all. Every March we filled out our NCAA brackets and compared notes of the various teams in the tournament. During the opening days of the field of 64, Dad and I would call each other to report upsets or exciting moments. I haven’t filled out a bracket sheet since he died.
My father was always proud of me no matter what I did. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of theater, but he came to all of my shows. While I’ll never know if he would have read my books (the first one went under contract 9 months after he died), I am certain he would have told anyone and everyone that they were the best books ever. As far as cheerleaders go, Dad was one of the best.
Of course, like anyone, Dad had his less than perfect moments. I’ve heard people say that the longer someone is gone, the more the survivors tend to remember only the good things about that person. The other stuff fades. I guess I’m not most people because the longer my father is gone, the more I want to remember the stuff that used to annoy me. Without that stuff, Dad wouldn’t have been Dad.

Dad wasn’t always the easiest to get along with. (Not that I am, but that is another story for another day.) He was stubborn. When he got mad he never told you why he was upset. Instead, he stopped talking all together. And he always had a list of things that needed to get done no matter what plans anyone else in the house might have. We used to get so frustrated when my father nixed doing something fun on the weekend because he had to paint the gutters, wax the car, mow the lawn or any number of other things that could have technically waited until tomorrow. For my father, tomorrow was never soon enough.

Like the best characters in our books, my father had flaws. Without those flaws our family might have spent more time going to the movies or on vacation, but those flaws made him who he was. At time those flaws made me want to tear out my hair, but now, thinking about them makes me smile. When I write, I try to remember that it is the flaws that often make a character relatable and endearing. The things that irritate the other characters around them are the things that make the reader laugh or nod their head in understanding. How many times have you found yourself reading something and think, “Yeah, my mom does that.” or “That sounds just like my Aunt Edna.” No one is perfect. Not in real life or on the page. If they were – well that would just be boring.

So in honor of my dad, I thought today would be a great day to remember both the wonderful things and the flaws about the people we miss the most. Let’s share the moments that made them the people that we loved. Together we will all smile and more important we will all remember.

I Love You Dad

/in /by


I should have written something for Mother’s Day because I really adored my mother, the original Evelyn. She was smart, feisty, independent, hysterically funny, and the original feminist. So Mom, I owe you a blog.

But next Sunday is Father’s Day. The kids and I will celebrate the wonderful Dad that my husband indeed is. But I want to take a moment to honor Carol, my father. He died much too young. He’s been gone more years than we had together. And yet, that bedrock of love he gave me as a kid accounts for much of the person I am today.

First, the name. He spent his life explaining it because Carol is usually reserved for girls. But the family lore is that it was supposed to be Carl, the hospital got it wrong, and my immigrant grandparents didn’t want to argue with authority. So Carol it was.

He was intelligent, kind, gentle, generous, good looking, with a twinkle in his eye and a sense of humor that often saved the moment (especially for an over-dramatic teenage girl). It was Dad who took me to the library every week. He’d get a stack of books (always including a couple of mysteries!), while I carefully picked out my own selection. He traveled for business, probably three weeks out of every month, but never missed a recital, a holiday, or birthday.

We weren’t poor, but money was usually tight. Dad was a product of the Depression and for him, spending money was always a gut-wrenching experience. When I was in college, I begged to go overseas to a summer program at Oxford University. The cost was prohibitive, but his hesitation, I think, was primarily because he would miss me. Still, my heart was set on a summer in England and he reluctantly agreed. I bought my cheap charter plane ticket and headed off. Within two weeks, I was back home. I’d been in a motorcycle accident (don’t ask, I was just incredibly stupid). I’d lost a few teeth, my face was banged up, I looked a mess. But once Dad had been assured by my doctor that I was okay, he paid for a full-fare ticket for me to return to Oxford. “You have to go back,” he insisted. He didn’t want me to be scared to travel or to miss this unique opportunity. It was a magical summer, despite the temporary bite plate!

Now that I’m a parent, I realize how terrifying it must have been for him to let me go. Not to mention how hard it must have been to pay for that expensive plane ticket. But Dad knew what I needed, even if I didn’t.

From him, I learned parenting lessons, long before I had kids. He never spanked me (Mom took a swipe or two), but Dad just looked disappointed when I misbehaved and that would be enough. He said spanking just meant that he was bigger than me, not necessarily that he was right. He taught me to always tell the people you love that you love them – never assume they know. By his example, I learned what a real father should be and I wanted that (and got it) for my own children.

This Sunday, my husband will laugh at the funny cards his kids have given him, smile at the thoughtful gifts they’ve brought, and mostly, just revel in the company of his children. Carol won’t be here, but I’ll hear him in the laughter of his grandchildren. Love you Dad.

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David