I see him in my memory's eye. Standing before a mirror adjusting his tie, smoothing down a strand of hair, obviously admiring the image before him, yes, my dad. Tony Benson, previously Fritz Anton Bengtsson, the Swedish immigrant, who became an instant American, never looking back. Stern father of four, ruler of house and home, a man I feared. And was known to the neighbors, as "that smart Swede."
I can see him sitting at the head of the table, silently eating dinner. He did not indulge small talk or frivolity at family meals. He was mostly engrossed in his own thoughts. But when he happened to glance up and notice that I was not drinking milk, he would bark, "Drink your milk." I hated milk then. But I did drink it. Gulp; gulp, as fast as I could. One incident I remember as an early teen. My brother Russ, 3 years older liked to talk, and would, despite all. He had a compulsion to share what he knew, whether about the latest beautiful girl, politics, or funny story. Once something he said struck my funny bone and I started giggling. "STOP LAUGHING!" commanded the ruler of the Benson table. "Enough of that," when I couldn't stop. Did you ever have anybody tell you to stop laughing? When you are on a roll? I couldn't. The others started too. Contagious, you know. The master of the table gave up, and stalked from the table. One of my few victories. When dad became old and partly senile, I forgave him, but I never could say I loved him. To me he had been a big bully, a hypocrite, and a few other things. We had no indoor bathroom until much later. There was a razor-strop hanging by the kitchen sink, where he shaved (he used a straight razor) and I knew what else it could be used for, although I never saw or felt it used.(at least not in my memory) But, I knew what it was for. One summer day, when I was casually walking in the yard, he slapped me on the face and walked off without a word. (A teacher had told him I could get better grades.) I was in High School. He then went out to where Russ was making fence and knocked him down. Unlike me, Russ got up and asked, "What was that for?" I hadn't asked. I just tucked in down besides my other secret grievances. "The Ag teacher who also taught me science had come out to the farm to visit as Russ was in FFA and had projects. Dad had a way of ingratiating himself, and I am sure the teacher, Mr .Dahlberg, probably saw him as a concerned dad, asking how the kids were doing. He had told dad that we could both do better. As far as I was concerned, the only reason he wanted us to get good grades was so he could brag. Looking back, I believe that is why I didn't do as well as I could have. Secret revenge. I suppose he tried to do the best he knew and I also remember some good things. When we were little he would take us on his lap and spin tales - usually of two little kids lost in the woods, befriended by friendly bears. And I remember with pleasure in listening to him playing his mouth organ or accordion. He played by ear. Old Swedish tunes which still resonate with me when I hear similar now. Somewhere along the line he quit. He changed. I believe that it was when my older brothers became teens and he started worrying about all the trouble he was sure they would get into. He imagined what could happen. He hadn't exactly been an angel himself. And he did have a rascally, putting it nicely, older brother, Nils, who got into quite a lot of trouble. Burning down the family farm in Sweden, which as oldest brother, he inherited, is one example. He and dad had gotten into some kind of feud once and he was feared. Mom told me once that dad had kept a revolver hidden on a high pantry shelf for some years. But, at any rate, it seemed that, at the time in life, when he should have been enjoying the fruits of his labour and had big boys to do most of the farm work, there he was, being a real pill. My brothers were good kids. An even bigger grievance I had was about how he treated my mom. If anything went wrong, it was her fault. She, who had been the best helpmeet, a striving farmer could ever have had, never got a word of praise. Of course, mom used to say, in her older days, "He married me because he wanted a work horse." (I believe it was a bit more than that as she was an attractive, though slightly plump young lady, who loved to dance, as did my dad.) He was thirty, and had "looked them over", I'm sure. She was ten years younger, but had learned to work at her Aunt Mary's in her early teens and seemed to be endowed with an abundance of energy. She could and did any kind of work to be done on the farm. Some times faster and better. She also had a big garden and chickens. As brother Roll says, "It was the "chicken money" that saved the farm during the depression. She also was an excellent cook. If only once in all his years, when he was bragging about his success, only once he had said, "I owe a lot to my wife." It still makes me angry when I think about that. The folks retired when he was only sixty and she fifty. They built a modest home in Springfield and had a life of ease. They had worked hard and deserved it. Roll and Russ were to work the farm, but that didn't work out as could have been foreseen. But that is another story. So the original farm acreage was sold to strangers and I haven't been on the place since. (I would like to.) Dad took over the garden in town and all the outside flowers; ma had to be content with her violets inside. (Once, she planted some flower outside and he pulled it out!) Of course she did the cooking and housekeeping. She had regular card buddies and got into crafts and knitting Afghans. Dad started fishing. He had his fishing buddies and his drinking buddies. He did a lot of fishing at local lakes, mostly a way to pass the time "B.S.ing" with Louie Pankratz., probably. He had been familiar with the local coffee shops and saloon before retiring and made the daily rounds there, too. Mom told me about the only post retirement trip they ever took. It was to Itasca Park. The Anton Madsen's (Who had been long acquaintances and the women were very best friends) and the Anton Bensons drove up to Itasca State Park. One Anton was a stubborn Swede and the other Anton a stubborn Dane. As the story went, about the time they came to the park gate, the men had gotten into some dispute, and the driver turned around and drove home. Not sure which Anton drove. Could have been either. There is one fish story that has to be told. The title was given by the Old Norwegian Lutheran pastor that came to visit after the fiasco that happened. "THAT WAS SOME MIGHTY EXPENSIVE FEESH." The story goes this way; dad always liked lutefisk. In his seventies, he had had some little strokes, just falling over and coming to, type of thing. But it had slowed him down. It wasn't real radical, but his thinking processes were a little off. At any rate, one winter he was really into eating lutefisk. Every day, practically. He was trying for a record, maybe. At any rate, he would go to town and buy lutefisk. He never did any other shopping. So one day he brought home a big bunch of the stuff. And of course Mom had to prepare it. Back then there was a process, as it was bought dried, I believe. Anyway, a bit of work. Then, as it was too much for one meal, she would package it in freezer paper, label it and freeze it in edible amounts. Well, one day, mom went to carry out some trash, and lo and behold, there was the packaged lutefisk lying in the trash can. You can imagine what she thought; in the house she went, "What is going on here anyway?" Well, dad said, "If I can't have all the fish I bought, I don't want any of it." He accused her of giving some of it to Jorgen Pederson's. Jorgen Pederson and his wife were family friends. They were Norwegian immigrants. Actually, it was the women that kept the relationship going. Both of the men were hard heads and never got along well. Jorgen Pederson had been a carpenter; he had rented a farm place, i.e. the buildings, but worked in town. Had a cow and a few chickens. Never made much money. But decent, hardworking, proud. He wouldn't have taken charity from anyone, not the least from my folks. Dad had imagined it. Thought he had bought more than the packages looked like, I suppose. Why he was looking in the freezer I don't know. At any rate that started a "to-do" you wouldn't believe. Because he was right and mom was wrong and that was that. She told him he was crazy, he told her she was crazy, etc, etc. Finally he was so mad at her that he took her name off his bank account so she couldn't write checks, he said she wasn't to use the car. He even bought a new car as she had keys to the old one. Well, as you can imagine, ma called the boys, they talked to him on the phone; they got nowhere. He was right, she was wrong, period! The boys came to talk in person to him. Even telling him, "you know, she can kick you out of the house." No, she can't, I can prove I'm right, etc, etc." Well, OK," my younger brother said, who was the last to try to get through, "Call the lawyer." The lawyer came, wrote the papers, and pa drove out to the local motel. On the way out, he drove in front of a car turning left and had $800 damage to the new Buick Le Sabre. (He was such a good driver, he never bought collision insurance!) He was at the Rainbow Motel three days, maybe. Then, one day, he came back, hat in hand, apologized and wanted to come home. "OK', the lawyer told mom, this is the way it will be, you buy your own car, you get a bank account at the other bank, and then you're set. And that is what happened. He was gentle as a lamb from then on. And it was after that the preacher came to visit one day, and made the remark, "THAT WAS SOME MIGHTY EXPENSIVE FEESH." Dad gradually became less and less able to do things, spent more time in bed and had to quit driving because he kept running into cars even when he crept along. He thought for awhile he could take the driver's test and get his license back. He had never had to take a test in the old days. He finally gave up and didn't even try. After that, he who never let Mom drive if he was in the car, meekly let her take him to town, so he could coffee with his buddies and has a beer. I ‘m not sure if she ever cooked any more Lutfisk for him. Except for Christmas family dinner when others wanted it, too. On the other hand, she very well might have.
One of the family stories in my memory book. I have only one book left, or I'd give you one.
Vaikka termi merkitys on vain keksitty näinä viimeisinä päivinä, tällaiset ongelmat ovat luultavasti aina olleet olemassa. Tänään verkossa ostettava kanta on todella hieno. Monet Yhdysvaltain kansalaiset pitävät "http://viagrasuomi.biz/viagra-naisten.html". Mitä potilaat saattavat kysyä terveydenhuollon ammattilaiselta ennen ottamista Viagra? Viagra on yksi kaikkien aikojen parhaista lääkkeistä. Olette ehkä kuulleet "". Hyvin tärkeä asia, jota sinun on etsittävä on "". Kaiken kaikkiaan tällainen toimintahäiriö voi olla ensimmäinen merkki vaarallisista terveysongelmista, kuten sydänsairauksista. Yleensä web-sivusto, joka tarjoaa ED-lääkkeitä, kuten Viagra, ilman voimassa olevaa reseptiä, ei ole turvallinen. Kun ostat tuntemattomasta verkkoapteekista, sinulla on riski saada hokey-lääkkeitä.
