My mother believed her children should be exactly like her. Whenever I said or did something she didn’t like, she’d say angrily “You’re just like your father!” Even at a very young age, I took it as a compliment.

I admired my Dad. I love him dearly. He’s been gone over 30 years now (after a lengthy fight with cancer) but at the same time, he’s with me always. As my mother liked to remind me, a lot of my characteristics come from my Dad.

I think my Mom, Irene, younger brother, and friends all knew a different man. This is MY version of him.

When I was very young, I thought Dad was the biggest, tallest man in the world; taller even then his hero, John Wayne (which he took great pleasure in telling me had a real name of Marion Morrison) and certainly taller then any of the Uncles or friends of the family. He smiled almost all of the time showing a gold tooth two positions from the front (and long before it became popular with hip-hoppers).

He had a great sense of humour and seemed to enjoy just about everything. He was a poet, a musician and an artist (another of his talents I inherited and passed down to my son). A free spirit, if you will, that probably should never have gotten married, but for his own reasons, did. I’m certainly glad of it, or else, I wouldn’t be here!

Most people remember him as being a quiet man and I agree, to a point. It was years before he spoke to me. He worked midnights at Fleetwood (a General Motors plant in Detroit) and every night, Irene and I would call out “Good night, Dad!” as he left the house at 9 pm to go to work. I was in shock when one night, he actually turned around and mumbled goodnight to us.

Mom and Dad were European. The women took care of the children. The men worked. Dad didn’t know how to interact with us. All of the discipline was left to Mom (and she was good at it!). He never changed a diaper, or played catch with us, or had talks with us about our boyfriends. If there was a concern, he’d discuss it with Mom, then Mom would talk to us. His job was to provide and he did. We ate well, stayed warm and had shoes and a new Easter outfit every year. He took us to Church and taught us Lithuanian traditions. He taught us how to forage and make a meal out of scraps. He showed us how to survive.

For Dad, family came first. Always. Extended family and friends were second (there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for someone in need) and, on his list, fun came third.

He would come home from work early in the morning and prepare himself a meal (his dinner). If one of us came into the room, the plate was immediately given to us. He either started over for himself or went without. It didn’t occur to me that he was hungry. I just loved his cooking so I always accepted the plate. We’ve even named meals after him: There are the pancakes with an entire apple slice in the middle, his braised chicken in “white sauce” and of course, Eggs Adolfas (a hole ripped in the middle of grilled bread with an egg in the center and chives on top).

I should mention my Dad’s name was Adolfas (pronounced Odd-DULF’) or Adieu’ for short. In our family, children called all of the male family friends “Uncle” or “Pan” (the Polish version of Mr.). Not my Dad. They called him by only his last name. Not Uncle, not Mr. or Pan. They simply called him “Kisonas” (KEY’-shon-us).

He was born in Lithuania, was in the Resistance during WWII, captured and put in a camp. Please read this wonderful article my brother, Ray Kisonas, wrote about him a few years ago for The Monroe Evening News.

The War and all he endured had a tremendous impact on Dad. I think that was why he enjoyed life so much. He loved hunting, fishing and entertaining. Every year, he threw a huge, wonderful New Year’s Eve party. He made sure the kids were entertained; not just the adult guests. He’d provide hundreds of balloons that he’d blow up and then slip coins and dollar bills in some of them. He’d hang them on strings and totally cover the ceiling in the “junk room”. At midnight, the kids would jump up and pop the balloons and find surprises inside. Once, I was so small that I didn’t reach even one balloon in time. All of the older kids popped them all. I was devastated and ran to my room to cry in the dark. Dad came in with a handful of broken balloons. He gave me a pin and sat in the dark stretching and sucking the broken balloon parts into his mouth to make tiny balloons. After twisting the tiny balloon shut, he’d have me pop it. I popped plenty of balloons that night.

New Year’s wasn’t the only time for a party. Dad had impromptu parties all of the time. If someone dropped by unexpectedly (any time of day or night), we partied! Mom would cook and Dad would entertain. There was always Wodka under the sink for regular visitors and Nalefka (a home made liquor) on the windowsills for those visitors Dad thought special and worthy. Inevitably, a deck of cards would make it to the table and suddenly, that quiet man everyone knew would disappear and be replaced with a loud, gregarious, singing and laughing man.

Irene was the oldest and Mom ‘claimed’ her immediately: teaching her washing, ironing, and all the things she thought was important for a girl to know. My Dad, well, he got me. Almost 5 years later my brother was born, but it was a few more years before he was old enough to do much so, in the meantime, my Dad had me cleaning mushrooms, skinning deer, gutting pigs and scaling and filleting fish.

Once, he was teaching me how to properly cut up a pheasant. When he finished and was naming all of the ‘parts’, I wanted him to know I was really, really interested. I pointed to some parts that he neglected to name and asked what it was. He stammered, avoided eye contact, got more and more flustered then apologized and quickly walked out of the room. It turned out it was a male bird.

One of my favourite past-times was staying up late with him and watching the late movies. We watched westerns and war movies starring John Wayne (whose real name is Marion Morrison, by the way), Henry Fonda and Gregory Peck. He would tell me stories during commercials, explaining his perspective and what was omitted from the war movies.

He also watched Match Game. He would sit and watch intently every day – for years. I thought it was his favourite show. Gene Rayburn asking the questions (Phil said, “Judy won’t go near my water bed until I give her BLANK.”). Richard, Charles and Brett giving funny answers to fill in the blanks. I found out the real reason he was watching when he finally asked, “What is ‘Blank’?” Apparently, it wasn’t a word that had a Lithuanian equivalent and he thought if he watched long enough, he would figure out it’s meaning. I explained the best I could but I’m still unsure if I succeeded.

Almost weekly, Dad spent time with “the girls” (I think Mom needed a break and forced us on him). Again, he didn’t know how to interact with us – was so very uncomfortable, and so he did what he knew best. He ignored the fact that we were young girls and just took us along with him on his normal day. Each week, he took us to the asylum or slaughterhouse and then the beer garten.

I’m positive that a large percentage of you are squirming or aghast or, at the very least, puzzled. Let me assure you, I had a great childhood. I will remind you that it was the 60s and my parents were European farm folk. He had things to do and it just never occurred to him NOT to take us. My Aunt was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, a result of the War, and in the 60s, the ‘cure’ was commitment. Uncle didn’t drive so Dad took him for a weekly visit and we got to tag along. At the slaughterhouse, we were entertained by headless chickens running around while Dad made his purchases. The beer garten was where he met with friends and while he visited, we were given nickels for the jukebox and shuffleboard and served Cokes in green bottles served with the glass tipped over the bottleneck and French Burnt Peanuts.

Family outings consisted of picnics, mushroom picking or fishing (of course) at Belle Isle, Kensington or Elizabeth Park. All of the men would fish for hours and throw their catches in a ‘community’ metal washtub on shore. Once, I felt so sorry for the fish, I told my Dad that it was crowded and they needed more water. I took a coffee can and would wade out into the lake and scoop up water. When I poured it into the washtub, I would sneak a few of the fish in and release them secretly. I meant to only release a few but, before I finished, I had released almost 40 and only 3-4 dead ones remained. My Dad could have been angry; he should have been, but he wasn’t. He laughed and even smoothed things over with the other men.

He was proud, independent and super intelligent (another trait that I inherited) and it hurt me deeply when people talked to him slowly, as if he were stupid. A lesson to everyone: just because someone has an accent doesn’t mean they don’t have a brain! There literally wasn’t anything Dad couldn’t do. He (and the Uncles) could fix everything! (a trait my nephew, Ryan, inherited.) To this day, I measure other people against him: mechanics, painters, carpenters, cooks, builders, roofers, etc. I don’t consider anyone “good” if they’re not better at it than Dad – and few are. Look up ‘handy man’ in Webster’s and it should have his name there.

An unconventional upbringing? Yes, we had one. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We learned respect, relaxation, and responsibility. We learned about family, religion, tradition, loyalty and generosity.

I am blessed. I’ve had so many great ‘fathers’ in my life: my husband, son, brother, brother-in-law and so many friends – and the best of all, my Dad.