Friday, August 23, 2013
** The Whistle ** /
One of my earliest memories of my Dad was the beautiful music he made through his whistle. He wasn't much for singing a song, - but, man oh man did he make sweet music in his whistle. *(Whistle the chorus of "Oh When The Saints Come Marchin' In)* You have to picture it though, he would be walking around the house in his boxers, totally unaware of the fact that he was whistling. I recall going next door to Nanny's house, only to find her making the same sweet music via her own whistle. (Of course, she was not walking around in her underwear though!) It wasn't something I thought about often, until a few months ago when I was in the kitchen, washing dishes & whistling away, unaware. Tom commented from the living room that I made such sweet music. I pondered and then explained to him: "I get that from my Dad and my Nanny." I am sure others in our family have the same trait. The age that I discovered my Dad's whistling was when I was young enough to still fall asleep in his lap each night. Being the youngest at the time, I was happy that there weren't enough seats in the living room for all of us, because I was the one who sat on Dad's lap. I remember feeling like it was so cool that I didn't need a pillow, 'cuz his belly was a perfect pillow in and of itself! When Robert came along and I got too big.I was transferred to the floor, or to the couch if one of the older kids was out socializing. I was bummin' But, I could still enjoy Dad's whistle!
Then, there was the whistle my dad wore around his neck while coaching. I'm sure many of his player's recall the fine music that whistle made! They jumped on command to that sweet sound! There weren't four seasons in the Bonicki household, there were only 3. Football, Baseball and Basketball Season! I loved watching my dad coach all three sports. His greatest joy was to get a player to do something he absolutely did not want to do, or thought he couldn't doand then see him actually enjoy doing it and mastering it! Many of the player's never knew that he actually practiced some of his exercises and drills on we 6 kids, working that whistle around his neck. I recall him lining us up, according to height, & having us do the chicken walk down low, in the kitchen & down the hallway, along with other calisthenics. Then, I'd see him using the same drills on the team later that day at Waterville Park. And, many of the Viking football players (including my brothers) never knew that he actually consulted with his daughters, the cheerleaders on some of our Viking cheers. (He would never admit that to anyone, though! So, let's keep that our own little secret!) One time, in particular I recall him asking me to incorporate the term "junkyard dogs" into one of our chants for the football team. I pleaded with him that they were the Vikings (V-I-K-I-N-G-S!).they were not dogs, and that the crowd would not understand why we were calling the Vikings the junkyard dogs He continued to try to convince me otherwise explaining that this team consisted of a bunch of junkyard dogs that could not be stopped. He insisted, saying: "Babe, you know, like the Bad, Bad Leroy Brown songthey are meaner than junkyard dogs..But, in a good way!" I still was not convinced. However, toward the end of that season, the team was undefeated and we cheerleaders after another victory lined up outside the locker room at Municipal Stadium and decided to try out our new cheer about "junkyard dogs". I couldn't believe when all the fans in the hallway joined in & it was the loudest, best chant ever! Out walked my Dad with his team, with the whistle around his neck.and, he had the biggest grin with those beautiful dimples and he was so proud. That whistle around his neck was symbolic. It represented what he taught us all. That you never, ever quit something you start. He only had to explain that point to me once & it stuck. If you join a team you never, ever quit that team. You finish it out, no matter what. You also respect one another and give it your all, for the team and not for selfish reasons. His joy was to motivate. And, that he did!
Like.. the times he motivated his kids to get home for dinner! I know anyone who hung out with us in the neighborhood will remember how he did that. That's right, none other than by his own, infamous siren-like whistle! From his own two lips, with no assistance from any apparatus. I have tried, in vain to imitate that whistle at my nieces or nephew's events - but I have to use my fingers and it is mild in comparison to my Dad's unbelievably loud whistle. We could be a mile away, playing wiffle ball or dodge ball and, the instant we heard that whistle, we dropped everything and ran as fast as lightning to get home! Even the other kids reacted, on command having no idea why they, too were running to their own homes! No-one asked questions, everyone just ran like mad home. Or, we could be having a boom box party at the other end of the path, dancing to that song "Brick House". The music was so loud, we couldn't even hear cars beeping their horns at us.but, boy oh boy - my Dad would belt out his whistle - and, boom - music stops & everyone's running home. Kevin, even with his hearing aids turned off could hear my dad's whistle! Or, we could just simply be standing in our own front yard, hanging out & my Dad would still belt out the whistle at the front steps & we still ran like mad into the houseeven though we were only steps away!
Two days after my Dad passed away, I was driving home from Karen's house and I was struggling with whether or not I should tell the story of my Dad's whistle. Was it too trivial to speak about? Should I go deeper than that? I was talking out loud in the car, sorting out my thoughts on this topic and I started to whistle a tune like my dad did when I was so young. The moment I stopped whistlingimmediately on the radio, a country singer stopped singing & started whistling in his tunejust a beautiful tune via whistle alone. I mean, immediately after I stopped my own whistle. And I knew then, it was a story that must be told!
That whistle meant business. It meant respect. It meant commitment. It meant never giving up. But, most of all - to me, it meant pure, uninhibited joy for life. When you are whistling, your troubles disappear. I hope that the next time you catch yourself whistling, or you hear someone else's whistle, that you take note of your own joy for life. And, perhaps you'll remember my Dad at that moment.
I am certain that my Dad heard his own father and mother whistling for him to come home on July 23rd.
Rest in peace, Dad - we love you.
