I can't get through the 4th of July without thinking a lot about my Dad.
In Robbinsdale, Minnesota, where I grew up, the 4th was the best day of the year. Our town's annual "Whiz Bang Days" festival made you feel like you'd walked onto the set of "The Music Man."
Horseshoe and archery tournaments (both of which my sister Melanie won), a pancake breakfast, a fishing contest...Whiz Bang Days had it all. Attending the traveling carnival unchaperoned was a significant rite of passage for my sister and me. We'd walk to Lakeview Terrace Park hoping that no mean kids would throw firecrackers at our feet. Then, swatting at a swarm of mosquitoes, we'd watch the coronation of Miss Robbinsdale, wistfully wondering if we'd be in the running someday.
My dad's favorite event was the Whiz Bang Days parade, especially the years my sister and I played bad clarinet in the Robbinsdale City Band. He found a folding camp stool at a garage sale one summer, and this became his "PWC" or parade-watching chair. Dad stood at attention everytime the flag went by, not only the first time in each parade, which is what local tradition dictated.
Jack Wigand loved his country and embraced every opportunity to witness and applaud some patriotic pageantry. He was an old-school, flag-waving Army veteran, a credential he encouraged us to invoke as needed. In third grade, when Tim Wilson stomped on my math book, my Dad's response was, "Tell him your old man was a chief warrant officer." As time went on, I used that line a lot, and it actually may have worked once when I was trying to get into an already-filled class in college.
Dad told his army stories as often as we'd listen. One time, in Fort Sill, Oklahoma, he and the other recruits were out on the firing range in the hundred-degree prairie heat. The drill sergeant asked if anyone had experience doing paperwork. Because my Dad had been an insurance clerk before enlisting, and because he sensed an opportunity to get out of the sun, he raised his hand. The drill sergeant stuck him in an even hotter trench behind the targets, where his job was to lick adhesive patches and repair the targets for the other guys between rounds.
Usually these stories had a sweet, nostalgic patina. Both Mom and Dad maintained that their days in the service were the happiest of their lives, with one exception. Dad was disturbed and ashamed to recall the day when he and his friends were taught to strangle an enemy soldier with a piano wire.
It was lucky for Dad that he remained stateside.
I wonder what he'd make of the current mess. He always voted the straight Republican ticket. (I think his darkest moment was the day he learned I was a delegate to a Democratic caucus. Well, that and the weekend I came home from college in bib overalls.) But still, I believe Dad would have despised Bush and his henchmen.
A patriotic guy with absolute notions of right and wrong has no time for crooks and liars. And whether they're stealing an election or lying about weapons or commuting sentences for rich fat cat buddies, that's who's running the show: crooks and liars making cynics and doubters of us all.
Anyway, Dad, if you're reading this on some heavenly blog, thanks for lighting the sparklers. And thanks for sitting inside with me when the fireworks got too loud. You were a Whiz Bang of a guy. And I love you and miss you today.
Water buffalo yogurt, I mean. (On sale now at Whole Foods--5 for $5.) Just had some for breakfast and oooooh is it creamy and luscious. I tried the maple. You can also get vanilla, blueberry, strawberry, chai, plain, raspberry, and a bunch of other flavors. It's kind of high in fat (8 grams per serving), but I'm thinking of it as a healthy alternative to Sheridan's custard!
