There’s No Stoppin’, There’s No Toppin’ My Dad!


I’m preparing one of my father’s favorite meals for Father’s Day.  Swiss Chard with Cannellini Beans.  I picked the chard with great care; only the crispest and brightest leaves made it into MY basket.  My mind wandered to Dad as I chopped, peeled and washed.  At 90 years old he still is pretty great.  And growing up…well, he was a true sport.  He liked me and I liked him.  I remember when my older sister, Cynthia, and I were little, really little, Cynthia wasn’t even in kindergarten yet, how Dad would play with us when he got home from work.  He had just opened The Tack Room, a women’s clothing store on Las Olas Boulevard, and typically came home dead-dog tired and worried about whether or not the store would make it.  As he got out of his car and Cynthia and I came running.  “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!  Can we play the chasing game?”, we’d scream.  And all of a sudden he would zig…then zag…and make a mad dash to the same palm tree  where we would follow with sheer delight and chase him around the trunk of the tree.  Round and round we ran, stretching out our hands in the hope of trapping him in our arms.  We never, ever caught that lean, lanky man.  Years later he would laugh and say, “Yeah, you girls weren’t very bright.  All you had to do was turn around while you were chasing me and you’d have caught me! But you didn’t…did you?”  No, Dad, we didn’t.  I thought about the time he came to my kindergarten class at Happyland.  Yes, that was the name of my school.  And, btw, it’s still there.  That was in the very early 60’s when men didn’t do certain things and kindergarten was one of them.  Anyway, I remember we were in the middle of snack-time, (i.e. cookies and juice, the juice being Hawaiian Punch). My teacher, I think it was Mrs. Hooker, who positively terrified me because I just knew she was related to Captain Hook, I swear, called me to the doorway of the snack room and informed me my father was there and needed to tell me something.  My heart soared!  Daddy was here?  To see me?  I whipped around the corner and there he was.  I remember this as if it was yesterday.  He had on a white Lacoste shirt with blue seersucker pants, a woven hemp-like belt and white, canvas boat shoes, no socks.  He was sunburned from the previous weekend we had spent at the beach.  He squatted down in from of me and with a sparkle in his eye and his special secretive smile he whispered to me, “Manima”, one of my many nicknames. Pronounced Mah-nee-muh, accent on the second syllable.  “You have a brand, new baby brother.”  I could not have cared less.  All I knew was that my handsome, darling father had come to see ME during the day AND in school.  Our father was not a demonstrative man.  He showed his affection by giving us nicknames and composing little poems and jingles about us.  He was highly uncomfortable dealing with our emotions.  I came down with a nasty case of chicken pox when I was a young girl of maybe four or five years old.  It happened to be the season when Lassie, google “heroic collie that ALWAYS saves that pain-in-the-neck boy, Timmy,  who was stupid enough to be sniffing around that old, abandoned mine”.  The program came on every Sunday night and at that time was a five or six episode story.  Apparently Lassie and her family had traveled from their home in Pleasantville or some other extremely boring, white bread place, to California for their vacation.  Somehow, Lassie had been separated from Timmy and his family.  In the season finale they were returning to Pleasantville WITHOUT Lassie.  I couldn’t bear it.  I just couldn’t bear it.  I remember sitting on Mama’s lap on my bed, burning up with fever just sobbing because Lassie was lost.  Poor Daddy.  He couldn’t stand to see us cry.    The next day he came home with a gift for me.  He NEVER did that.  He presented me with a large trunk.  It had shiny brass buckles.  I opened it and found the most exquisite doll.  She was meant for little girls who were either sick or bed ridden.  The trunk showcased drawer after drawer of items essential to a doll’s infirmary.  She had doll sized band aids, casts for arms and legs, crutches and slings.  She even had little pink stickers for chicken pox.  I loved her! In fact, she’s the only doll I didn’t play beauty parlor with so she still has all her hair and it’s not in a matted, shampooed mess.

Please note the almost perfect hair. I resisted washing, cutting or styling! The leg cast is all that remains of her infirmary inventory.
Please note the almost perfect hair. I resisted washing, cutting or styling. The leg cast is all that remains of her infirmary inventory.  And that was Daddy’s way of saying Lassie and I would be all right.  But his chosen way of showing affection was in a nickname.  I had scads of them. I believe my first was as a toddler when he named me Hurricane Jackson.  From there I was bestowed with Manima, Manimina, Baretti, Bretty Sue, Brett, Weech, Ween, Weenie, The Big E, Vishinski and Skee.  Who knows how many I’ve forgotten.  And we all had them.  Dad still uses them.  Today it’s that same thought if Dad calls you by your real, given name…well, you’re in deep, deep doo-doo.  Daddy didn’t stop at nicknames either.  He composed little songs and poems for us.  When I started to show an interest in cooking he would ask, no beg me to prepare his lunches to take to “the store”, The Tack Room.
Dad's way of showing love. Is there anything sweeter?
Dad’s way of showing love. Is there anything sweeter?

He loved both peanut butter or liverwurst and Mom would mash around a huge lump of one of the two in the middle of two pieces of bread, tearing them in the process.  I didn’t.  I carefully covered an entire piece of bread with a thick but even layer of the wurst then blanket that with a crisp sheet of lettuce followed by a savory slice of onion or tomato.  His peanut butter sandwiches always had a light drizzle of honey or a sliced banana.  But I didn’t particularly care about making his lunches.  I’d forget to make them or put it off or just disappear to get out of it.  I should have known how grim Mama’s lunches were.  And I feel a bit shameful for being so self-centered.  Now I cook for him often and look forward to hearing the satisfied pleasure in his voice.  I know he’ll be surprised but happy when he sees this, his favorite dish.  Happy Father’s Day, Dad!  Tschüss!



Swiss Chard, White Beans and Potatoes

  • Servings: one quart
  • Difficulty: easy
  • Print

  • 2 tablespoons good olive oil
  • 1 large onion, roughly chopped
  • 3-4 medium red skin potatoes, peeled and diced into 1″ cubes
  • 1 tablespoon dried thyme
  • 1 32-ounce box chicken broth, I like Pacific
  • 2 15.5-ounce cans cannellini beans, well rinsed and drained
  • 2 large bunches unbruised, untorn Swiss Chard, washed and dried
  • salt and pepper to taste, go easy on the salt if the broth used is heavily salted.
  1. Heat a large frying pan to medium high heat and add olive oil.
  2. Add chopped onion and cook until translucent.  If the onion starts browning drop the temperature down a bit.  You want it clear not burned.
  3. Add the potatoes, thyme and broth and stir well.  Taste the broth for any salt or pepper needed. Remember to season now so the potatoes will absorb the flavors.
  4. Add beans, bring to boil, drop back down to simmer and cover.
  5. While the potatoes and beans are cooking cut the dried ends of the stems off then cut the stems in 1/4″ pieces and add to the pan.  Cover.
  6. Take 3-4 of the chard leaves and roll them up tightly like a cigar.
  7. Holding the “cigar” tightly, cut all the way through in 1/4″ intervals.  Cut all the leaves. You’ll end up with a beautiful pile of thin Swiss Chard ribbons.
  8. Add to the pan, mix well and cover.  Cook until the greens are tender, maybe 2-3 minutes.  Do not overcook.
  9. Serve immediately.


  1. Dana

    You know that I am crying HAPPY TEARS reading your story. I will always remember your dad, the kindness he has shown me and the stories he has shared with me through the years. Especially when he let me go into the back of the Tack Room and he would tell me all about the fish, where and how he got them. I know he enjoyed Father’s Day. 😀

  2. Bup

    Yeah Bup… sweet story. And how lucky are you to still have your Dad, much less at 90!! Tbh – a tiny part of me was saying, “wait just a minute here, I didn’t get a doll (fm my dad) And I had ALLL those stitches! bahhaha. Quick story about Lassie (and I cried those same tears!) Trish was up on a chair, gettting a glass of ice ( her fav snack while watching Lassie). She hears the opening music to Lassie in the next room. In her frenzied hurry to not waste a moment w/ Lassie, jumps off said chair, slips & falls on the glass and sliced open her major artery in her left arm. Narrowly escaping bleeding out, and spending the afternoon in the ER, she missed that episode and she still has the scar. Keep it up Bup you remind us of lots of childhood memories. Mrs. Hooker ~ really?

  3. midsummer

    Hi there! I could have sworn I’ve visited this site before but after browsing through some of the posts I realized it’s new to me.
    Anyways, I’m definitely happy I discovered it and I’ll be bookmarking it and checking back regularly!

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