Happy Father's Day, Dad!

Many loyal Coastal Point readers will remember a Mother’s Day tribute to my mom a few years ago. Equally important in my growing up and becoming the well-adjusted person that I am (!) is my dad, who is famous in his own right. Some might say my dad is a man of few words, although that depends on who you ask …or they might say the strong, silent type…Well, not exactly.

Coastal Point Submitted
Neil Fleming, right (father of Coastal Point reporter Monica Fleming and her eight siblings), is pictured with wife Jeannie and one of his sons, Kevin, at Del Tech's graduation ceremonies. Neil is voted Outstanding Father by his kids year after year.

Although I have never actually heard the words “I love you” from my father, I do believe he has been trying to tell me just that my whole life.

“Stop slamming those doors!”

“Are you working on tomorrow’s shower?”

“We don’t want any!”

“How many Corkys do you know?”

Although many of the euphemisms will be lost on anyone not named Fleming, and most had to be edited due to their references to various bodily functions, there are still enough left to get the point across.

Basically, our entire childhoods can be broken down into hundreds of short phrases. The “man of few words” certainly has his share of euphemisms. Only now, as adults, do my siblings and I realize that they have a deeper meaning, and that is — simply — that we are loved.

My dad is the quintessential product of growing up in the 1950’s. He grew up in the city, with a paper route, playing stickball and dreaming of a life in the majors. He has never lost that love for the game or for the Phillies, and throughout his adult life has always had some sort of umpiring or coaching or playing gig. There’s no coincidence that there are nine of us kids — just enough for a baseball team.

I remember trying to interview him for a report or something for school and asking him what he wanted to be growing up.

“I wanted what all kids wanted — to play professional baseball,” I remember him saying. That is especially important as I write this now, because for many of us, our fondest ‘Dad’ childhood memories are from the ball field.

My dad lost his own father at 17, something I am sure has had a profound impact on how he has been a father to us, and the importance of family and of being a team. If there truly is a School of Hard Knocks, my dad graduated from it. The seriousness of losing his father at such a young age and the responsibility he had as a young kid has to have somehow molded the funny man that he is today.

It had to have aided in teaching him the lesson that most people don’t learn until it’s too late: There aren’t that many things in life to get worked up over and to truly care about — family being the most important. To quote one of his many sayings — and there are a lot, “Don’t sweat the small stuff … and it’s all small stuff.”

“She whistled and she farted…”

“Hit the damn ball Jeannine!”

“Walks will kill you.”

“That’s why we don’t buy ice cream.”

“Can I have a nibble?”

“If she cries one more time, you’re going to bed!”

“First trip back.”

“Oh, well. There’s always next year.”

My sister Colleen, affectionately known as “Pook,” said the metaphors of baseball and sports have molded her and her understanding of life, and holds those lessons true to her heart. She especially appreciates the efforts made by him to keep her and her family connected.

“I am grateful to Daddy for modeling being on a team and the great enjoyment that comes out of that because I have gotten so much out of sports and being on a team in my life. I love that he still plays softball. He was always supportive of us joining a sports team, and would try to come watch even when he was working and there were a lot of kids in the house.”

“Every time I call home and he answers the phone, he says, ‘What’s the problem, Pook?’ and then I heard that he has a phrase for Debbie, too, but it is different from that one,” she said. “His visits to Portland or Vermont, or wherever we live, are always looked forward to, and he has made the effort to come see us a lot, and we appreciate and love that.”

Clif, Colleen’s partner and Isaac’s dad, added “What’s hot” and “Heyyyy, Isaac,” to the collection of sayings.

Debbie, or “Peb,” has fond memories of the ball field and talks of how they have stitched themselves into this baseball game called life.

“Most of the memories etched in my mind are focused around a ball game. I can remember being a very little girl cheering on the sidelines of one of his games and thinking he was the greatest ball player on earth. I remember big kids coming over and asking if my dad was home to play ball with them, but, as the consummate dad, he would never go unless he took me and my sisters along too.”

She continued, “He never said very much, it was short… ‘get on with it, get use to it and get over it.’ Thank you, Dad, for all the hardships that you endeared and the sacrifices that you made for the success of your children. It never went unnoticed. When you didn’t win the game, get a good grade or get picked for varsity it was my dad who made you face that life is rough, failure in life is inevitable, but take a moment to realize where you are, what you have, and where you are going,” recalled Debbie.

P.C., who as Debbie’s companion has been with us for more than 20 years now and holds the title of an honorary Fleming, or Mr. Fleming when he’s on vacation, shares some other famous “Corky” quotes.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Why not?”

[When asked, “How are you,” or “How was it?”] … “Not bad.”

Philip also cited my dad’s uncanny ability to know everyone’s name, history and him being quite the student of names, dates, state capitals and other miscellaneous Jeopardy-type facts.

This is a man who worked hard — as a paperboy, a milkman, a bread man, a family man; a man who had been up for hours before anyone else got out of bed and who always came home at night to give you thimps and tuck you in. A man who worked harder than anyone you know. A man who never complained about what life had dealt him, only embraced it, and he just did what he had to do and did it well. A man who had the ability to put the fear of God into you all while letting you know that you were completely safe and secure at all times.

“The almighty dollar.”

“Did Roland call yet?”

“Santa Claus got hit by a truck in Georgetown and he’s not coming this year.”

“The yellow limousine (school bus)”

“Don’t throw inside to a lefty.”

“Curve balls that don’t break are called home runs.”

“I can’t make you but I can make you wish you had.”

Ahh, one of my favorites — and it rings so true. My dad knew his limits as a parent, he knew he could not physically make any one of us do what he said. He had no superpowers that he knew of, although he does think he’s “knows all, sees all, is all.” And yet, with just that saying, you knew that he was in charge, and where you stood.

Yes, you had choices, but not really. You could listen, or simply, wish you had. Which, in essence, is what every good parent makes known to their kids. “You are ultimately in charge of your life, but I am ultimately responsible for you, and here for you. And when you make that wrong choice, I’ll still be here. I’ll always be here.”

[Burp] “Did you get any on ya?”

[After throwing up] “What color was it?”

There’s a whole lot more in this category but I’ll stop there…

It’s amazing that the same man that routinely sang songs about various bodily functions, could — at crucial times — know exactly the most comforting and loving words one of his children might need to hear.

“As a teenager, I remember leaving Beebe hospital, having just given up my son for adoption,” remembered Karen, a.k.a. “Boo Baby Bubblebutt,” “and Daddy looking at me in the rearview mirror saying, ‘We can turn around and go back and get him if you want.’”

“As a parent, I realize now how much it took for him to say that. Those words had the power to change our lives as we know it, and the mere fact that he went ahead and said it, and meant it — that’s love — the heartbreaking, unconditional kind of love that only a parent can bestow on a child,” she said.

Brian, who has the uniqueness of not having a nickname, has memories once again centered around the ball field and the way our dad had a knack for making every kid feel special.

“He was always the baseball coach,” said Brian. “No matter how hard he worked or how early he got up in the morning, he always made time to coach. I remember he would let me watch him referee baseball games or basketball games and on the way home we would go to Dairy Queen to get a treat. And no one else got to do it, just the person that went, and that was always great.”

Kevin James, “Leroy,” recalled some of the best times he has had with our dad.

“A man of few words, I learned the art of keeping my mouth shut from my dad,” he said. “Actions speak louder than words and the true heroes are the men who get up each day and provide for their family, be it one or nine children,” he said.

“The highlight of my youth was when I hit a home run in my first at bat as a 13-year-old at the state championship in Dover, and my dad gave me a high-five when I reached the plate. Though we lost the game, it made me feel like a champion,” he said.

Amy, a.k.a. “Beanworm,” appreciates the hardworking family man that my dad is and how it relates to her own relationships as an adult.

“People always say that little girls grow up and fall in love with men who are like their fathers. I am so lucky that I feel I have someone loyal, hardworking, a provider, someone to admire and try to emulate. Daddy is the best, and we can only hope to learn the tricks of the trade from him,” said Amy.

“Hard days work will kill ya.”

[Kids ages 1-5] “They eat when they’re hungry.”

[To commemorate the start of another school year] “Day 1, Week 1”

“Domino Nabisco, Shredded Wheat, AtutuWaaaa”

“They will call you Thomas Alva Fleming”

“Short, fat, squatty, all butt and no body.”

My dad “retired” in 2003, only to start his new career as caregiver for his grandkids that live close by, something that is not lost on us. Even in retirement, when most people are thinking about long leisurely trips and cross-country treks with no deadlines and no itinerary, he schedules haircuts and dentist appointments with as much care and concern for everyone’s schedule as you might expect from someone planning a vacation.

This is a man who is called “PopCorn” or “Neil baby” by kids that aren’t even related to us just because kids love him. Some people become teachers or nurses, or missionaries. To me, my dad’s calling in life was simply to become a father.

“When I think about my dad,” said Lizzie, or “Wheezer,” “I think about generosity — not only with money but with his time. He is always the first to volunteer to help with my kids. He is such a selfless person. And his humor — he is an all-around well rounded person and you can always count on him in a pinch.”

She continued, “He’s one of the funniest people I know, and I always felt growing up that he knew everything and the sense of security that brings. If I didn’t know something, he would know it, and if he didn’t, he would find out. He’s a great dad and a great PopCorn and we love him,” she added.

“Corn is the greatest,” added Annie, or “Sweet Pea.” “He is the world’s best father and I am grateful for everything he does and has done for me. He was the best softball coach ever. I’m so thankful for all his help from the little things to the big things, like watching Shona so I could work. He is the smartest man I know. I’m glad I’m ‘Daddy’s Sweet Pea,’” she said.

As for my own anecdote, there are many. But one sticks out. When I was in eighth grade, my dad had a heart attack, the same thing that had taken his father — and it truly was a defining moment of my youth — although I didn’t know it until later. I went to school to soft questions of “How’s your dad?” and answered naively, “He’s fine!” — the true meaning of what had happened lost on a middle-schooler.

I learned later that many people who suddenly have a heart attack at 50 don’t have the luxury of angioplasty and bypass and stints and defibrillators. Many simply meet their maker.

The fact that our dad lived will never be lost on me. God had plans for him. He was simply not done growing as a person, as a man, as a husband, as a father. The man who never wore seatbelts suddenly started buckling up. The man who would buy treats at the store started taking aerobics, Pilates and swimming. The man who was set in his ways started changing.

He took that lesson of living and ran with it. He changed his life and changed his ways, takes his medicines and does what he needs to do. He got the chance some people never get — to change, to be better, to stay in the game, to live. To learn what the small stuff really is. And to make sure that every day his family knows that they are loved, even if he has a funny way of saying it.

“What’s your name, Sam Davey?”

“Does a bear s*** in the woods?”

“Dork.”

Thanks, Dad. On that note, I think I’ll read about it. I love you, too.