7431

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Greetings to the residents of 7431,

My name is Lorie Kleiner Eckert. My family was the original owner of the house you live in. We moved in when I was four-years-old in 1956 and we lived there until I went away to college in 1970. Often on Father’s Day, I think of sending a card or letter to my much beloved but long-deceased father. When I consider where to send it, 7431 is what comes to mind. That’s the place my heart calls home. Clearly, I’m late for Father’s Day, but here’s the letter now.

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Dear Dad,

I visited St. Louis recently and, on a whim, drove by our old house. It looks pretty good! Astonishingly, only three major things have changed on the exterior! The front door is white now instead of teal plus a wooden handicap ramp helps get people up to the door. But the real show stopper is the tree you planted when the house was new. It’s enormous! Bobby Goldsboro’s song played in my head as I viewed it: “See the tree, how big it’s grown, but friend it hasn’t been too long it wasn’t big.”

I didn’t remember the name of that song, but when I looked it up, it’s called, “Honey.” Well of course it is! That was your pet name for Mom and her pet name for you. You two honeys rarely disagreed with each other – at least when Rich and I were around – and the most heated I ever heard you guys get was when one of you said to the other, “But honey…” as you calmly stated your different point of view. I read so much about spousal abuse these days, but we had none of that.

What we did have was stereotypical male/female roles. You knew nothing about the running of a household – basically, you couldn’t get yourself a glass of water without Mom’s help – but you were in charge of the great outdoors! You manned the portable barbecue grill under the carport. You cut the grass – and once a summer even had a beer after doing so. You were our handy dandy gardener planting tomatoes every summer. There was also a patch of perennials in the backyard under the master bedroom window. Irises grew there (we called them “flags”) and four o’clocks. Remember?

There was a Rose of Sharon tree in the backyard too. We could see it from the kitchen window as the four of us ate meals together. (And of course, we ate dinner at home together virtually every single night.) Once there was a dead rabbit under the tree! You and I were horrified! We had to call Grandpa Willick to cart it away.

And speaking of wild animals, remember our pact about mice? If we ever saw one inside the house you and I were moving out immediately!!! We didn’t care about Mom or Rich. They were on their own. But meanwhile, we were out of there!

There was one exception to the hating-of-mice-rule and that was Topo Gigio, the Italian Mouse on the Ed Sullivan Show. (Or Ed Solomon as your mom, “Momma,” called him.) Perhaps he was on the show that one particular Sunday night I remember. It has gone down in history as the one and only time I ever heard you say a cuss word. As I sat watching TV in the living room, you were up on a ladder painting. You had spent all day making those walls a new color and were taking your last brush strokes. As you neared the return air vent, soot sprinkled down from it marring your newly painted wall. You said, “Damn!” It was shocking!

Also shocking was the time you were outside with Rich playing catch in the driveway. Yes, you know what’s coming, perhaps the most famous story from our time at 7431. You were reminding Rich that care needed to be taken while throwing balls in the driveway due to its proximity to the living room and its large picture window. In the next breath, it was you who threw a wild pitch and broke the window!

What a wonderful life lesson: Painful experiences can turn into much beloved funny stories down the road!

I guess I could go on forever with fond memories of HOME, but I’ll leave that for another Father’s Day. For now, I’ll close with another story about a window, the one in my bedroom, which was also on the front of the house. It gets dark early in St. Louis in the winter and so as I waited for you to come home from work one winter night, I made a sign to put in my window. I was using a Lite-Brite, so I figured you’d see it in the dark. As an adult, I know how far that window was from the driveway and how little light that toy put out, so you probably were not able to see my welcome home message. But trust me, it was there. Beaming love from me to you.

Happy Father’s Day to the best father ever. My love and respect for you is like the tree that started this letter. It just continues to grow.

Lorie

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