"Daddy Taught Me"

For those who didn't know Chris, you might not realize that he was very involved in the Norwegian community in Chicago. He danced with a Norwegian folk dance group since he and his siblings were kids and took on the role of instructor as an adult. Most of his best friends were from dancing and other Scandinavian groups. This usually comes as a surprise to people considering he was German and Bohemian and was often mistaken for either Italian or Greek. But he and his family were honorary Scandos and Chris did so much for the community that the year we got married, he was the Grand Marshal in the Norwegian Independence Day parade. The parade was only a few weeks after we returned from our honeymoon and we got to sit in a convertible and be driven through Park Ridge and wave at people during the parade. It was quite humorous...the German/Bohemian Grand Marshal and his Irish/Polish/German/French wife led the parade. Not an experience I thought I'd ever have.  Anyway, I digress from the whole point of this post.


A few weeks ago, one of Chris's dancing friends, Jill, invited us to Pancakes with Pippi Longstocking at the Swedish American museum (bet you didn't know Pippi was Swedish...I didn't either). We enjoyed Swedish pancakes, did some arts and crafts, went on a treasure hunt and explored the children's section of the museum. It was a very fun morning.

Ian and Pippi

During the arts and crafts activity, Ian picked up a pair of safety scissors and starting cutting a piece of paper. I assume he learned this skill from preschool but I had never seen him do it before. I said to him, "Ian, great job cutting! Who taught you how to do that?", to which he replied, "Daddy!" Surprised, I managed to sputter out, "Oh, okay." 

2 seconds after I snapped this picture, the scissors were promptly
removed from Claire's hands

The other day, I took Ian to Home Depot with me. He used the facilities there and I congratulated him on going to the bathroom in a store. We were giving each other high fives and he said, "High five! Down low!" and when I went to slap his hand, he pulled it away and said, "Too slow!" Knowing that his Uncle Frank does that with him often I said, "You goofball! Who taught you that?" and again, he said with a huge smile on his face, "Daddy!" This time I was a little more prepared and just said, "Great!"


These incidents are fascinating to me. I have heard that children who are very young when their parent dies think they have memories of them because of all the stories they hear. But these weren't events that had occurred and that I had told him about. He just created these memories on his own. Memories of quality time he spent with his dad that never happened and will never happen. On one hand, it saddens me that he will never get to have these experiences with Chris. On the other hand, there is some comfort in his confidence that they really happened. I just wish I could bottle him up at this age so he could believe in the fairy tale forever. Some day soon he is going to figure out that "and they lived happily ever after" isn't exactly accurate. For now though, I'll cherish the times he mentions Chris and try to picture some of that fairy tale myself.


This is us without you, Chris. Keep the lessons coming.