Backstory

My Dad was quite a storyteller. Like most spinners of yarn, he would oft-repeat his favorite stories — many of which were of the “remember when” variety. Pops particularly enjoyed reminiscing about episodes from my brother and mine’s childhood. Like the time, the family visited Washington, D.C. in 1977 and participated in the Easter egg roll at the White House. A clown had heard my Mom call out my name, and then he proceeded to shake my hand and ask, “How you doin’, John?” Then, my Dad asked me how the clown knew my name, and I said, “He must have remembered me from the circus last year, Dad.”

 

That was one of my Pop’s all-time favorites. And he would share it any time he got a chance and with whoever would listen. Dad would regale our family and friends with many more of these anecdotes, time and time again. Such as the time I declared, “I would rather get a spanking than go antiquing.” This one-liner captured my youthful disdain for antique shopping when we visited our cabin in Northern Michigan on the weekends. And, the time when I was three driving along in the car with my parents, and I exclaimed, “Dad, look at the little men with big sticks!” I was referring to the boys playing baseball at the elementary school. And, the time my Pops referenced Hopalong Cassidy, and I had to set him straight, “No, Dad. It’s not Hopalong Cassidy. It’s Shaun Cassidy.” He always said that’s when he first realized there was a generation gap between us. 

 

Although I don’t possess the same gift for storytelling that my Dad had, I did show a precocious ability to produce a good line or two on occasion. At least, that’s the story my Pops liked to tell. 

 

When I started writing this book of one-liners back in 1999, the working title was Observations & Deceptions with the subtitle The Reflections of a Young Man. Then, as the years accumulated, and the distance between the beginning and the end grew, it slowly dawned upon me that young was not an apt description of me anymore. That’s a painful realization for all of us, and in this case, particularly for me. I had to go back to the drawing board. For a while, I toyed with the idea of giving it the more retrospective title of In More Liberal Days as I felt more a sense of looking back than looking forward. I also thought that The Diary of a Dilettante would be an apropos subtitle as the only common theme in this work was a lack of one. Or, as I would more generously describe it, a hodgepodge of randomness coalesced into a narrative — kind of like life. In the end, I decided to go with the original titling as it best describes the piece and captures its essence. Please forgive this old man for calling himself young. However, note I did write most of this sh*t before my thirty-third birthday. 

 

I began this endeavor with great enthusiasm and idealism. I wanted to share a love of life, of learning, of laughter, and maybe a few insights on the joys and heartaches of being human. I’m not sure I succeeded at any of this, and if I didn’t, it wasn’t from a lack of heart, spirit, or effort. Since I never got around to publishing this material, I thought I should put it out there and see what comes back. Just days before my Dad died in 2008, he picked up the original paperback edition. He read it as my Mom prepared him breakfast. As he thumbed through the pages, Dad said to Mom, “This is so good. It needs to be published.” Those were some of the final words he spoke on this earth. Well, the last thing in the world I would want to do is disappoint my Dad. This is for you, Pops. Hope you’re up there, laughing.