Happy Father's Day

Seven years ago, at age 11, my son gave me a Zippo lighter as a Father's Day Gift. He wanted to give me something he picked out himself, and his grandma helped him buy the lighter. I remember Aaron being a little uncertain when he gave me the gift. In fact I think he was a bit concerned that I might not think a lighter an appropriate purchase with his own money.

My reaction was, and I'm eternally grateful, one of sincere pleasure for everything about a silver zippo lighter reminds me of my Dad...with every sense. The opening is a "flick" followed by a "click". How many times did I hear that sound coming from the driver's position, while I was riding in the back of a brown and white early 1960's Chevrolet. My Dad and I spent many a weekend or early evening "road hunting" Partridge in the northwoods. We spent hours riding to and from a fishing spot or back and forth to The Sport Marine in Antigo, his store.

The quite grind of the brass wheel on the tiny flint sent a spark which ignited the sweet, aromatic lighter fluid... "fluufff". A quick burn of the wick produced a new aroma of burning, sweet fluid and then a near silent crackle of the ciggarette or cigar tip when touched to the flame. The puff of smoke of burnt tobacco preceded hollow metal clink of the closing of Zippo. This musical performance of sight, sound, and smell replayed unknown times to untold numbers of audiances just like me. I imagine the one-handed performance was mastered by every Dad who served their country in the 1940's and 50's. I wonder if Zippo was standard G.I. issue?

That 1998 Father's Day is a special memory to me. How it is still in my possession today is a mystery. The little lighter has had many opportunities to become the prized possession of other fellows or to be lost in woods, field, ponds, lakes, marshes from Madison to Canada. At age 16, Aaron layed claim to my gift. Fearing it would suffer the same fate that befell my 1969 Little League Baseball glove in 1994 (left behind at the park and gone forever) I took my Zippo from the usual place of safe keeping and Aaron bought one for himself.

Last week, my youngest son Patrick, 14 (and a half) suggested a fitting gift for he to give himself in Aaron's memory was his own silver Zippo. Mom said she would have no part in such a thing. Dad readily agreed the purchase was appropriate, after all a zippo never hurt anyone. Patrick picked out the Zippo identical to my prize and Aaron's. The difference is Patrick had his engraved. On one side reads "AJM", the other "Here Comes the Son", a phrase Aaron wrote often on the top of his homework assingments, for the pleasure of his teacher.

To complete the circle, I told PT that I would show him "the right way to fill a Zippo" with fluid. Pulling the rectangular insert out, I took the squirt can and filled the main body about 1/3 full. Pushing the insert back into the body, as "always happens" the displaced fluid sprayed and flowed out. A quick spin of the wheel produced the "fluufff" and the wick ignited along with my lighter fluid soaked hand. PT wondered out loud if maybe this was not the right way and I assured him it was just "old technology" and that's the reason you need to be careful.

The next day, after doing the one thing Dad's never do...reading the directions, PT showed ME the proper, safe and easy way to fill a Zippo with lighter fluid. Amazing how long the fluid lasts when done right. For all those years I imagined American soldiers spraying precious lighter fluid and having the lighter run dry after just a couple of days of use. My youngest son taught me a lesson I missed from my Dad. I suppose he would look down from heaven with bewilderment that his "knuckle head" son didn't know what he was doing and was passing along flawed information on the proper handling of one of man's engineering marvels. Today Dad likely proudly said to Aaron, "Hey, little buddy; look what your old man learned from your little brother. Come over here, I'll straighten out a few more things he mis-taught you."

Love you Dad and Sons.
Peace and respect with lots of memories

Tom/Dad