That Defining Moment Between Father and Son

[LUBEDUDE]

Like most kids growing up in the late 50s and 60s, 70s I had confortations and fights. My Dad was good about discussing my problems with me. During my elementary school days he would counsel me on fights and offer tips.

Dad grew up in Ohio in a very racially diverse area. Not just Black and White, but many different races which stuck to their own neighborhoods/turfs. Because of this Dad said he had to fight his way to and from school almost daily. Needless to say, he had lots of war stories.

As a teenager I realized that I was smarter than dad and he was full of beans. I began to realize all of those fight stories were BS. Dad wasn’t around much coming from a time when husbands believed the wife should not work, but stay home. He wasn’t around to help me work on my car or hang out. He had a trucking business to run.

One day he came home and walked past me as I was raising the hood on my 68 SS396 Camaro. He looked over at the engine and said “where’s the air cleaner”. It had a nice big fancy chrome air cleaner which was quite noticeable when gone. I told him that I had the car at the Shell Station for some carburetor adjustments and that they stole it. Dad’s demeanor instantly changed like I’ve never seen. He said to get in his car.

We went over to the Shell station and Robert and Dub were in the garage. Robert wasn’t much older than me, Dub was probably close to Dad’s age. I never saw Dub without a cigarette hanging off of his lip. He had one of those hard leathery tans year round and had his Camels rolled up in his shirt sleeve. To a 16 year old kid, he came across as a tuff guy.

Dad was polite at first asking for the air cleaner that cost more than full Saturday and Sunday’s pay for me. Dub kept saying that I brought the car in without it. Then Dad got very firm and said he must really be a tough guy bullying a 16 year old kid and was going to kick Dub’s butt for calling me a liar.

That’s when it happened...... Dub raised his leg and put his foot on the tire of a car in the garage which tightened his pants leg and printed the 25 auto in his pants pocket. It didn’t phase Dad at all. Dad said “I see that 25 in your pocket. If that’s the way you want to play let me get my 38 out of my car and we can go in the alley and play games.” Word for word on that quote, I will always remember that.

Well Dub’s tanned face immediately changed colors. He didn’t say a word. He just lowered his foot and walked to the back of the shop, took a hard right into the parts room and came out with the air cleaner. He offered it to Dad, but Dad said “ don’t give it to me, it belongs to this boy that you pushed around”. Dub hated handing that over to me, especially with Robert standing there watching as well.

That’s when I realized ALL of Dad’s stories were true. And I sure was proud of him.


Dad always referred to his Llama 38 Super as “the 38”. It’s a 60s or earlier vintage and quite dependable unlike many later Llamas.

https://uploads.tapatalk-cdn.com/20191207/9f60a7e520b0d1af689a0d242f9e3951.jpg

I’ll always keep this “38” to remember Dad by. He sure loved this gun, enough to bet his life on it!

[falmike]

Nice!

[osteodoc08]

Great story and nice looking piece.

[Texas by God]

Great story! I doubted my dad’s toughness once as a rebellious teen- only ONCE.

[DCP]

This made my day. Thanks

[MrWolf]

Great story! I doubted my dad’s toughness once as a rebellious teen- only ONCE.

I got knocked "up" three steps without my feet touching anything.

[shdwlkr]

I have always had a special relationship with the model 1911 it was the year my dad was born and the first center fire pistol I had ever shot. That came in the Army so many light years ago. Still love the 1911 and yes I would bet my life on it still today.

[JBinMN]

Thanks for sharing the excellent story!
:)

[poppy42]

I grew up in Long Island New York. I wound up in a trade that was the same trade my father spent his entire life in, collision repair. I was the youngest of 6 kids four brothers and a sister , and I guess you could say the accident , My mom always told me she thought she was too old to have anymore children. Anyway my dad died when I was 13 and he was 56 so I never really heard any of the real tales about his goings-on . I knew it was a tough guy but never really knew how tough. Freeport Long Island was a funny town still had all the same autobody shops that were there when my dad was a young man, just different owners. I actually worked in the shop that my father helped built in the 40s I saw his name and date on the floor in concrete . Funny thing about men that work in hard labor trade. They are usually known to imbibe in a beverage or two after hours if you get my meaning . Along with all those collision repair shops the same bars were in the same locations . I was known to frequent just about all of them as a young man. It was the thing to do . I generally would have couple of drinks and then head on home . Just a way to relax after work . If I lived to be 1000 I’ll never forget this one particular time . There I was in a corner having a couple of beers mind my own business and this older Rather large guy started in on me . You have to realize this was the 70s now and my hair was shoulderlength . As the verbal diarrhea flew from this guy‘s mouth I looked around for pool stick, empty bottle, or something to use as an equalizer. I knew it was common as guy had a following . Now I don’t remember the guys name but just about the time the do do was getting ready to hit the fan the bartender pipes up and says hey so-and-so you know who that is ? The guy says what do you mean ? The bartender proceeds to tell him, and I quote “ that’s Al Jankoski‘s youngest son”! Well this big dude turned white as a sheet instead they’re open mouth for a second . He then proceeded to walk towards me with his tail between his legs and ask are you really Al’s son? I said yes I am looking him square in a eye! Not only did he buy me several drinks that night every time he was in there when I was there I had drinks bought for me. One day I finally asked the bartender what the deal was . The bartender told me that one day, back in 60s , the big dude his brother, and his father, had picked a fight with my father. Much the same way as he was about to pick a fight with me. It seems that not only did my father kick all three of their butts, he broke the guys father’s arm in three places ! As I got older I heard many many many more stories about my dad . I know some were embellished upon but for the most part I believe them all as I question my older brothers and my mother about him. And yes my dad was one tough SOB !

[1989toddm]

Thank you Lubdude for your story. Touched me deep. I have young kids, but am looking forward to those moments with my sons and daughter.

[fatelk]

I don't always agree with or get along with my dad, but I do respect him. I think that's important. He has strong principles and has accomplished some impressive things in his life.

A younger guy I work with makes me sad. He refers to his dad as a "stupid old man". I don't care if that's who his father really is; it's just so terribly disrespectful to say something like that.

[JBinMN]

In reading these posts, I am reminded of a saying/quote made by Samuel Clemens, or most would know him by his "pen name" of "Mark Twain", who wrote quite a few books like, Huckleberry Finn & The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, just to name a couple...

https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1322103868p4/1244.jpg

The saying Clemens/Twain said, was,


“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around.

But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”

― Mark Twain

How true that saying has been for me & I reckon so for many others...
;)

[Finster101]

This post makes me sad in that there are still a lot of times I wish could ask my Dad what he thought.

[Frosty Boolit]

I grew up in Cleveland. I used to have a helluva a sprint but though I hate to admit it, I also had a crosman 1911 look alike that fired darts, bb's or pellets. I used to have it in my backpack for the walk home and it scared the hell out of bullies. I realize the foolishness now but i guess you could say it was different in the 90's:p

[Harter66]

My Mom gave me Dad's M12 last Christmas . Lots of memories .

Thanks for sharing guys .

[trails4u]

My dad is not a big man.... 5'8 on a good day, and maybe 165 in his prime. I only had to watch my older brother challenge him once, to know that I never would. The wily old Navy vet landed 3 or 4 'soft' shots to big brothers chest in about .3 seconds, and then gently picked him up, told him he loved him, and walked away.....

As a parent today......I learned SO MUCH from that moment. Dad didn't hit him.....he educated him.

[Walks]

I grew up in LA in the 1950's & 1960's. Had 3 Brothers. My Dad boxed in his younger days, taught all his boys to box.
Folks divorced in 1965, Dad married the woman who destroyed our family. Spent his tax money on her, so My Mother lost our Home to IRS Tax Seizure just before the divorce was final.

Had a lot of pent up anger. Still do.

But I remember Father's Day 1975. I had just got out of the U.S. Navy after 4 years, had been to VN. Survived a lot of Barroom brawls. Thought I was tough.
My Sister had arranged a Father's Day lunch for the 3 of Us. Between 1968 and 1974, My 3 Brothers had all died. I was angry, I was no longer allowed in My Father's house or to even Call him there.
On top of everything else my Dad's house had been burglarized a year earlier, almost every gun was taken. Close to 100 guns. Was probably stepdaughters boyfriend. Since the guns were hidden in a concealed alcove in the attic. Had to move a sewing machine cabinet to get to the hidden door.

Well to get on with it. My sister and I got into an argument before we even left for the restaurant. I said I was leaving and headed for the Door, My Dad stepped in front of me.

I cocked back my fist.

Woke up on the floor. Felt like I had been hit with an axe handle right between the eyes.

Forgot Dad was 3rd Runner up in the 3rd Fleet, Heavywright Division in 1944.

We went on to lunch, by the time lunch was over I had two black eyes and a 3" lump on my forehead.

Things seem to be better between Us after that.

[lightman]

Thats a cool story! Thanks for posting it.

I wasn't real close to my Dad when I lived at home. But I'm thankful to have gotten to know him better before he passed away.

[LUBEDUDE]

I grew up in Cleveland. I used to have a helluva a sprint but though I hate to admit it, I also had a crosman 1911 look alike that fired darts, bb's or pellets. I used to have it in my backpack for the walk home and it scared the hell out of bullies. I realize the foolishness now but i guess you could say it was different in the 90's:p

OP here, Cleveland is where Dad grew up in the 30s-40s. I reckon the neighborhoods stayed the same all of those years.

[LUBEDUDE]

Sure enjoyed all the other stories. I hope more folks post theirs.

[fatelk]

I don’t have any of that kind of story myself. My dad was not physical, never laid a hand on me. I’m the same, never had a physical altercation in my adult life. He was verbally harsh though, and I had bitterness over that for many years. He’s very intelligent and principled, but difficult, to put it mildly.

I’ve always regretted not being able to have much of a positive relationship with him, and now I’m running out of time. Two years ago he was a busy, hard working farmer in his 70s. Now he’s fighting for his life with some very serious health problems.

[Phlier]

That was a great read. Thanks for sharing!

Too bad men like our fathers are getting fewer and farther between.

Dad taught me how to snow ski when I was seven. We were on "the bunny hill," with Dad teaching me how to snow plow. I made it a ways down the slope, then stopped to look back and grin at Dad. I suddenly found myself face down in the snow. Some guy in his early 20's ran straight into me, with Dad watching the whole thing. Kid was plowing his way (deliberately) through other skiers, hitting them intentionally. Even kids.

Dad chased him down. The kid made the mistake of trying to stab Dad with his ski pole, then swung at Dad's face. Dad was ex-military. It didn't end well for the kid. Dad "subdued" the kid, and kept him in a pain submission hold while we waited for the police. After the Ambulance crew stopped his bleeding, the cops took him away in cuffs for multiple accounts of assault and battery.

You can be darn sure I never talked back to my Dad. Glad to say that Dad's still around, at 89 years old.

[snowwolfe]

Dad was a brick layer and a drinker and no one to mess with at 6 foot 2. He liked to flash a wad of money to impress people. He would often travel to work a week at a time. Famous for working like a dog for 10 hours a day putting those huge concrete bricks into position with one hand then drinking his supper.
In the summers I would sometime tag along for the week staying busy while dad worked. One night while in a bar 3 guys waited till we walked outside and they beat the snot out of my dad and stole his bankroll.
About 6 weeks later dad found himself in the same town, same bar, and same 3 guys. He watched one walk into the john and told me to stay in my chair. About 5 minutes later the other 2 were wondering what was going on with their friend. Second guy walked in, didn’t come out. Third guy walked in. About 2 minutes later dad came out, grabbed my arm and said let’s go.
In the car he told me that he beat the crap out of each of the three, stole all their money, and flushed their car keys down the toilet. I remember staring at his hands and they weren’t even red. Asked him how he did it and he said he used his size 13 work boots. Said he needed his hands to do a good job laying those brick.
That’s the way justice was in the 60’s and that’s the way it should be today.