Thick As a Brick

dad-isms

35mm film - Fuji 800 - found the original scan - shot off a pier sometime in the late 90’s

My dad was full of isms. I find there are many times I am haunted by them. The last story I wrote, I almost didn’t write certain content — saying our son went to an Ivy League college made me rear back and think, “can I say this with a humble heart?” Should I explain that it was indeed crazy? (which I kinda did), should I yell from the rafters that “WE DON’T HAVE BIG HEADS!”

The ism that got me there, gets me every single time…

“No one will have a big head in this house. No door jams will be widened.”

I remember as a kid thinking this was loaded.

From that point on I looked at the doors, figured out the jams and decided my head, although huge (because “Gunn heads” were inherently huge) would always fit through. It’s like having a shadow reminding you of how you should behave and it wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, it was absolutely brilliant. But then, I was a curious thinking kid, so it worked. Thankfully I wasn’t “opposite kid.” That’s when you use reverse psychology, like “go ahead and do that thing I asked you not to do.” Risky.

Another famous ism, which is imprinted on dad’s stone under an apple tree in the garden (representing the one he’d climb to avoid the dentist once a year) was “mind how you go.”

I took this as a seal, a final stamp on the paper to living, leaving, making good decisions. Thinking carefully, driving safely as I went, walking the streets happily, but being aware, discerning my choices as I grew up.

Which leads me to “have eyes in the back of your head.” Yeah, take that and digest it when you’re little. Sometimes I feel like I know too much of what is going on around me without looking directly at it. But, “you can never know too much.”

I used to love hanging out at Zuma Beach with the surfer kids in the ‘70’s summers of my high school youth. We’d hop the “beach bus” from the San Fernando Valley and I’d get excited when the guitars and harmonicas came out as we lay away the day soaking in the harmful ultraviolet rays, hair looking like something that crawled out of the seaweed, and a little weed, of which I never took a toke…

Beeeeeecause… “what, are you THICK AS A BRICK?”

(remember, we were from England and my parents, held on tight to their accents. Just wanted to point that out)

“and, if you think you’re going to jump off that pier like the rest of ‘em, I’ve got news. You will be the one caught and fined $500, and I’m not paying for it.

Nope, I wasn’t thick. and I didn’t. I felt it was much better to hang out on the beach and swim in the surf.

Every choice I’ve made has dad’s isms hanging gently, swaying over me. I’m grateful for the gift. At the same time dad taught us not to be stupid, he taught us safety, how to drive hard and wickedly smart, took us to the firing range and made sure we knew exactly what we were doing if ever… and he made us appreciate the unique way in which we were made, passing on an endless love of music, history and creativity. The reason I was able to do so much, in what would seem like boundaryless parenting (and I’ve written about some adventures he let me go on) is because he put the mental boundaries right there in my not so thick head. It stuck. That’s not always the case, but dad had some kind of talent for making me think beyond the moment.

Life skills in isms. “BLOODY UNBELIEVABLE” (almost forgot that one)

I love you and miss you dad. Thank you.

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“And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away in
The tidal destruction, the moral melee
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
As the last wave uncovers the newfangled way
But your new shoes are worn at the heels and
Your suntan does rapidly peel and
Your wise men don't know how it feels
To be thick as a brick”

- Jethro Tull | 1972, lyrics by Ian Anderson (who is an incredible thinking person)

“Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth”