Better Than A Sharp Stick In The Eye

 Better Than A Sharp Stick In The Eye

By Stu Cassell | Highlands Today 
Published: April 02, 2011

When I was a teenager, my father enjoyed having company whenever he went to the supermarket. He would start the invitation for me to join him with, "Come with me to the store, Stu."

If I didn't immediately accept, he'd add, "Come on, it'll give you a chance to blow off the stink."

What a charming invitation - who could turn that down? Obviously, I would jump at the opportunity to aerate myself in the hopes of decreasing offensive body odor in lieu of my daily shower.

I made a mental note to use that line in the future when I called up a girl and asked her out. If she declined, I'm sure that if I explained the advantages to going out with me in terms of her personal hygiene, she would definitely reconsider.

My father had other quaint expressions. If we were watching a murder mystery on television he'd frequently remark, "That guy's got a slight case of the deads." I must admit I use that expression now myself, and have passed it on to my wife who also uses it.

Another one of my father's expressions was, "Better than a sharp stick in the eye." Most anything would be better than a sharp stick in the eye. Being locked in small broom closet for six hours with an insurance salesman was better than a sharp stick in the eye.

My mother liked to caution me not to do certain things with the warning, "You could poke an eye out." What was their generation's obsession with damaged eyes? I never noticed an unusually large number of elderly people my parents' age walking around with patches on their eyes, so what was the deal with this particular phobia?

My father also had his own personalized collection of hand gestures which he learned from his mother. When either of them didn't care for something instead of saying, "No thank you," or "I didn't like it," they both raised a hand and let it flop to the side as they said, "Feh."

"Do you want some salad tonight with dinner, Dad?"

"Feh." (hand flopping gesture)

"How was Bingo yesterday, Grandma?"

"Feh." (hand flopping gesture)

Once we moved my Dad in with us, my wife Mary Rose was exposed to a series of "fehs" and she started doing it. "Not tonight, I've got a headache" was replaced with "Feh" and the hand flopping gesture.

My dad had other idiosyncrasies. He liked his hot beverages really hot, and when I say "hot" I'm talking hot enough to cauterize most people's throats. Conversely, he liked his cold beverages really cold. If we went out to a restaurant with him and his tea or soup weren't hot enough he'd take one sip and I'd see the "feh-hand" begin to rise. We knew we'd be sending it back for a reheat.

Often to avoid that problem I would tell the waitress, "Be sure it's hot enough to sterilize surgical instruments."

My dad also had issues with cheese. He absolutely did not want to see it on his fish sandwiches or hamburgers. Again, to keep from hearing "Feh" and seeing the hand flop, I would develop stories to tell the waitresses to make sure they did not bring him anything with cheese on it.

"My dad will have the cod fish sandwich, and whatever you do, please make sure it does not have any cheese on it. You see, as a small boy he was frightened by a large wheel of cheese."

I miss my dad, and wish for just a moment I could see him again. I'd ask him, "Dad, what's heaven like?" I'm sure his answer would be, "Better than a sharp stick in the eye."