Windshield Wipers and Proposals

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As I contemplated asking Susan Appleberry to marry me* in 1990, I had a few friends ask if I had received her father’s permission. My knowledge of marital laws was negligible – and the internet didn’t exist to confirm or deny — so I thought they were kidding. As the day approached, I learned they were serious.

     *By ‘contemplating,’ I mean wondering how embarrassed I would be when she said ‘no’ in front of a bunch of people.

So as we loaded up my 1982, four-speed Mustang GT with a 302 HO engine at Susan’s parent’s house to head to Columbia, MO** and the eventual proposal, I hastily asked Bob Appleberry to come look at my malfunctioning windshield wipers. Bob was well aware of — and likely highly perturbed at — my mechanical incompetence, so he agreed to take a look. We got to my car, and I admitted that I had an ulterior motive for luring him away from his daughter and wife.

     **I mention the car in such detail because it was one of the two reasons that Susan would consider saying ‘yes’ to my long-shot proposal. The other was my Brittany Spaniel, Yogi.

Anyway, my windshield wiper malfunction issue was just a ruse to pull Bob aside and ask this question:

“May I have permission to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

My flummoxed prospective father-in-law thought about it, then responded, “Well, let’s take a look at these wipers first.”***

     ***My future father-in-law never really did consent to my RFP (request for proposal). But he didn’t deny, either. Therefore, I proceeded with my efforts at attempting to marry up.

Fast forward to one bitterly cold and dark evening this winter, some 35 years after my bumbling attempt at permission-gathering. While Abbey Widick was out of town, Sean Moise visited our home under the guise of borrowing something or, more likely, adding to the items Abbey already has in perpetual storage at the parental abode.

At some point in the charade, Sean gathered Susan and me in the kitchen, and from somewhere still unbeknownst to me presented a box containing a brand-new, OEM quality, Good Year branded, Ceramic Titanium Beam Blade windshield wiper and proceeded to ask for assistance at his car for its installation. I, like Bob Appleberry three decades ago, was flummoxed … not at Sean’s incompetence to fix the issue himself, but in his belief that I was 1) capable of assisting and 2) interested in doing so in this aforementioned Arctic tundra weather pattern. I was completely unaware of the ruse Sean was perpetuating on me, as was my future father-in-law all those years ago.

“Dammit” was all I could mutter when Sean had to come right out and ask for Susan’s and my blessing in marrying our daughter. Not “dammit” as in “Dammit, I don’t want her marrying you” but as in “dammit, I wanted to have a good comeback when this day came.” Instead, he pulled one over on me.

So, for now, Sean-1, Darrin-0. But eventually, I’ll get even. After all, he is going to marry that gal who still uses her childhood bedroom and one full spare bedroom as a storage unit. One day soon, all of this will be his problem to deal with. ****

     ****Which means — in case you were off the social media grid last weekend and/or not text buddies with Susan or Julie – he asked, and she said yes last weekend. We’re incredibly lucky to have Sean in the family. And I’m looking forward to getting even with him.

‘Uncle Jim’ Widick: A Euology

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[My eulogy to my father, James Raymond Widick, who passed away on December 1, 2023.]

In honor of Taylor Swift, the 2nd biggest Chief’s fan (behind my Dad), we’ll call this the ‘Eras Tour of James Raymond Widick.’

The three eras are:

  1. The Jimmy Ray era
  2. The Jimmy (or just Jim) era; and
  3. The Uncle Jim era (which also includes the PaPa Jim Era).

… and we’ll cover some lessons learned in each of those eras as well.

The first era is the “Jimmy Ray” Era

Though he was born in Kansas City, Kansas, my dad spent his early years in Northwestern Arkansas, living with his grandparents, my great grandparents, Ernest “Ernie” Emert Patrick and Ethel Iona “Ona” Cantrel Patrick. My great grandmother was a wonderful lady and offered Dad a loving home as best she could. This era was a little tough for young Jimmy Ray, but there were good memories and lessons as well.

The Patricks lived in an old farmhouse — with an outhouse at the beginning — about 30 miles south of Branson, Mo. Dad was baptized in Crooked Creek, which winds its way through the tiny town. He attended grade school in a one-room schoolhouse, and was at times the only person in his grade. (By the way … this would be the last era in which Jimmy would ever be at the top of the class in scholarship.)

Lessons from this Northwest Arkansas town? I think my dad learned to enjoy solitude, whether while milking Ol’ Brownie the cow, or trudging off alone to school. While later in life he enjoyed a career in sales and interacting with people, he could spend a lot of time alone and be fine with that.

In those early days, he also laid the foundation for his faith. Now, he didn’t always practice that faith, but it was always there. While going through his things, I picked out an old family Bible to keep for myself, and then donated at least 6 more back to his church. In a few of those – and many others of his books – Dad had slipped in a $2 bill for a bookmark or perhaps a rainy-day fund of some sort. So another lesson when going through your parent’s stuff: check for hidden bookmarks!

That brings us to the Jimmy Era

From Arkansas, he moved back to the Kansas City area and attended William Chrisman High School, graduating in 1960. He was on the football team, though I don’t think he played much. But he did some acting, and it’s something I hear he was good at. While going through his things last month, I found that he still had his program from appearing in “Inherit the Wind.”

At Chrisman, while many of his friends were striving for the Principal’s honor roll, Dad would say that he was at the top of the “Vice-Principal’s” list. One such Vice Principal was LeRoy Brown, who 25 years later would be my Principal at Truman High School. At one Truman basketball game, Mr. Brown chastised a rowdy group of friends – me included – for our behavior. At the next game, some of us showed up in Boy Scout uniforms to show we had reformed. When I asked Mr. Brown — in a smart-aleck tone — if our behavior was better, he replied, “Well Jimmy, I don’t rightly know.” “Jimmy!” I said. “Do you still remember my dad that well?” “Oh boy, do I ever,” said Mr Brown. Years later, at our 30-year reunion, Mr. Brown was a guest of our class and sat at a table with Susan and me. “How’s Jimmy?” he asked. Dad left his mark on the old vice principal.

Dad would lose his father and grandparents in this era. But he would gain family as well. He married my Mom in 1964 and gained step-daughters Pam and Kathy, and treasured brothers and sisters-in-law. I came along in 1967.

Lessons learned from this era? Leave your mark. Whether that be on the Vice Principals, or on your classmates, or on your family … leave your mark. And save things. Like your programs from Inherit the Wind. Or your father’s paystubs from the railroad. Or your own first check from Stephenson’s Restaurant. (And yes, he still had all of those things.) And so many more things. And now I have those things. And also, cherish the little things. Like Dixons Chili, and Stephenson’s restaurant, and Gates barbecue.

The final era is the Uncle Jim Era

Dad moved to Texas in the 1980s and would marry Anna Garza in 1984. With that, he gained 6 more sisters-in-law and their spouses, plus four stepsons. Dad worked for many car dealerships in Corpus Christi and then El Paso, and then back in Corpus. And, as we know, car salesmen don’t always have the best reputation. But I was struck by the number of people on Facebook and in-person who said they wouldn’t buy a car from anybody in south Texas but their Uncle Jim. That’s what everybody called him … Uncle Jim.

Dad also became PaPa Jim during this era. And though his own rough childhood and lack of good examples wouldn’t always allow him to display it, he was immensely proud of his granddaughters and daughter-in-law back home in KC. The extended family and friends in Corpus made sure I knew that, and they wanted me to pass it along.

Lessens learned in this era? Keep your faith. You’ll always have that. Keep all the things (I’m not sure that is always good, but he did keep the things.) Stay loyal to your roots. Yes, he was down there in Texas. But he was so proud of home. Deep in Dallas Cowboys territory, he wore his Chiefs shirts and jackets with great pride.

And finally, and maybe his most important lesson is this: Anybody can be family. Whether they be former stepdaughters or in-laws in your hometown, or stepsons and in-laws in your large adopted Hispanic family in South Texas … and even if they are customers who affectionately call you Uncle … anybody can be family, and that’s an important lesson from Dad.