Son of a Butch, 2013

It's that time of the year again to reflect on Wayne Morris Crandall, aka Butch, and his official father's day celebration. No, I can't be in CNY to watch him mow the law or to join him at Chubby's for a few Labatt's Blues nor can I go with him onto Oneida Lake in pursuit of Walleye - the boat has moved to other owners (and I think he had it with fishing after Lossine talked his ear off in the boat while I was still at S.U.). In the photo to the left I can see that he's wearing one of my ties from my high school days of working at Sibley's, and that his mug shot resonates everything that a tuba player from Sherburne, New York, can say..."Want to walk down to Luis's for a beer?"

Yep, he's been my pop for 42 years and Cynde's for even longer. To this day, he and KC can still have the best fights. That is 4+ decades and almost a half century of his parenting. Pretty amazing.

Sure, I remember the little league games, the drives to Loch Lebanon with the Milwaukee's best tucked between his legs, and the rotatilling of gardens, both at our home and his mom's - I've always felt he deserved a pitchfork in his front lawn for having the nicest grass on Amalfi Drive. I think of episodes of Mash, reminders to take out the trash, and the ubiquitous question, "Sue, what's for dinner?" There are the firepit chats with him and Karl, the 2 mile an hour way he drives through Cherry Heights ,and the time he passed out in the downstairs bathroom because things came out a little heavier than they should have. There's the dented siding from baseball games in the backyard, and the long days that resulted from putting down Dusty, Mokie and Baby. There was the Syracuse basketball game in Louisville where Kentucky fans didn't treat us well, the hot and humid station wagon ride of Amish country Pennsylvania, and our annual summer trip to visit Rena at her camp on the St. Lawrence River (and the dirty joke books she kept at the side of the couch and in the bathroom). I remember reading about the birds and the bees (always a book work) and asking him seriously, "Dad, I get it all. It makes sense. But I don't know how you should know when you're all done." He responded, "Oh, you will know. Yeah, you will know."

But the one thing I hold closest to my heart are the annual tears he sheds when he sees Nikki perform and he recalls all the years he supported the fieldband and color guard as a dedicated pit crew member. All those days and devoted time only to bring him to the Papi status he has today. The Clam Bar, USair, Hancock Airport, and 5388 - all swirled into the Crandall crew still with him today.

Get yourself some of Val's wings and put your feet up in your chair downstairs. It's father's day, 2013, dad, and you deserve the R & R Sundays bring in your cave. I hope to get up to see you soon.

I will always be your Son of a Butch and all three of your children love you. Enjoy.