I’m embarrassed to say that this will be my first post for Father’s Day. Let’s face it, dads sometimes get the short end of the stick when it comes to their special day. So as I was walking on this beautiful summer day I was thinking of my Dad. I often think of him. But this time I was pondering which story to share that would illustrate the relationship we had.
My Dad was talented and smart. He could repair almost anything we had. His natural gift was probably enhanced by his military training as first a pilot and then, when an old baseball injury scrubbed him from the air corp, his training as a radioman and later his work on un- manned drones. Before he even joined the Army he was trained by his father and uncles as a working carpenter. So if he couldn’t build it he could probably still fix it. Cars, big appliances , small appliances. The Stereo cabinet (very 1960’s) my bedroom dresser, and a big beautiful wooden playhouse came out of his work shop. But it was something much smaller that he made for me that still makes me smile.
When I was seven my second grade teacher decided that our class should learn and present a play as puppet theatre. We read the play in class, The Princess and the Pea, then we would be assigned parts and perform the play for the other grades all from the puppet theatre in our class room.
I don’t remember how I felt about this project, only that I was home sick the day students were assigned their roles. When I returned to school I learned that all the parts had all been taken. The Princess, the King and Queen the assorted folk of the village everyone had their part. There was just one role open–the Prince. I remember not being too happy with having to take a boy’s role. But this was the ’60s, the teacher told me I was going to learn the part of the Prince and that was how it would be. Second grade puppet theatre had two important tasks first, for some still unknown reason we would have to memorize our parts. (Remember this was a puppet show we were behind a puppet stage no one could see us.) Second, and this was what really scared me. We had to provide our own puppet.
Now if my Dad was “Mr. I can make it or fix it” my mother, although a classic “homemaker” of the era, was not as we say now a days, “crafty.” Our Halloween costumes were store bought, our clothes form the Sears catalog. And that was fine. But, how was a royal prince puppet to be created? I brought this dilemma home to mom and I must say she looked shaken by the thought of providing my thespian debut so important a tool.
We went to the only how to manual that wasn’t about cars, mechanicals and woodworking in the house. My trusty Brownie Girl Scout hand book. Eureka !
There were puppet making directions in the book! Great. It involved large spoon and a napkin. You drew a face on the back of the spoon, and worked the napkin around the handle forming a cover for the puppeteer’s hand. Believe me what you imagine that looked like would be better than it actually turned out.
And so I set out for school with my spoon puppet in by book bag. My teacher was less than impressed. I don’t remember how she explained to me, or how her note to my mother was worded. But we were both informed that a spoon-napkin puppet would not meet the teacher’s theatrical standards. Back to square one.
I think that afternoon was spent with neither one of us wanting to talk about the dilemma. I know I felt totally clueless about puppet design and creation. She probably did too. By the time my dad come home for dinner the house was pretty quiet. I also don’t remember who told my dad about the puppet problem but soon after dinner he got to work.
And a couple of hours and old white pillowcase later a Prince was born. No spoon and smiley face here. This prince sported an ermine-like black and white jacket and a jaunty face drawn on a puppet body that fit my seen year old hand perfectly. My mother’s old black Singer sewing machine whirled and stitched while my father fed the fabric under the needle. The first and only time I ever saw him at the machine.
You know how the story ends. Everyone loved my puppet. And as we performed for the other classes I rendered what I remember as an inspired prince of a performance. The kids laughed at the Prince’s antics. He gestured with his little puppet hands, scratched his little puppet head as he performed his princely lines. I was a smash hit as a puppeteer. The teacher congratulated me as the Prince took his bow.
In a drawer of my dresser I keep the beautiful gavel with inlaid wood my father made me when I was elected presiding officer of my local Rainbow assembly. In my living room there stands a beautiful grandfather clock he built and passed on to me. But on this Father’s day I’m thinking about a puppet prince and the man who designed, sewed it and sent me off to school to be the best prince any little girl could hope to be. Sitting over the old Singer at the kitchen table stitching a memory that will never fade. I’m just say’n.