I Meet A Dog and Ruin Her Day

I met a new dog today and while we got along really well, there might have been some miscommunication somewhere. This post is told from the dog's perspective.

A nice man came to my house today. He smelled like cheese and had a big beard. Big Beard Cheese Man petted me and scratched my ears and rubbed my belly. He called me a "good doggy" and let me lick his hand. He tasted like Doritos. His voice was loud but sounded nice. There weren’t any mean tones at all. I liked Big Beard Cheese Man.

Because I liked Big Beard Cheese Man so much, I wanted him to see my favorite toy: My Ball. I have had My Ball forever. My Ball is never far from me. This is my most favoritest toy of All Time. I thought that Big Beard Cheese Man would think My Ball was the bestest too because he was happy to pet and scratch and rub and talk to me. He was a nice man. So when I brought My Ball to him and showed it to him, he had to think My Ball was the bestest because he talked nice and scratched my ears.

But then he tried to take My Ball. He was a nice man; why would a nice man try to take My Ball from me? I bit down on My Ball as hard as I could but Big Beard Cheese Man was very strong. He was still talking nice but he sounded more excited. I didn't want him to take my ball, so I tried to tell him. I growled at him. All that did was make him laugh and pull harder. Big Beard Cheese Man was trying to take my most favoritest toy ever and he was having fun? I thought he was a nice man.

As hard as I tried, I couldn't keep Big Beard Cheese Man from taking My Ball. After he took My Ball, he called me a "good doggy" and petted me and scratched my ears. He was talking nice and acting nice and I could almost think that he was a nice man but…he TOOK MY BALL.  A nice man wouldn't take My Ball. Big Beard Cheese Man then held My Ball up high. He was still talking nice but was sounding even more excited than ever.

Then, Big Beard Cheese Man threw My Ball. He just reached back and threw it. He is very big and strong and he threw My Ball really far. Really, really far. Why would a nice man throw My Ball, my bestest and most favoritest toy of All Time? My Ball bounced across the yard and landed in the bushes on the far side on the yard. Why would he throw My Ball in the bushes? All I could do was stare at Big Beard Cheese Man.

Big Beard Cheese Man is not a nice man. At all. Now I has a sad.

Dad's Eulogy

Welcome everybody and thank you for coming this afternoon. We are here to celebrate the life of Jack Chandler Beach, or Joe to his friends. For those of you who don't know me, I'm also Joe Beach, Joe's eldest son. Unless of course, Dad and I are at the same place, then I'm Joey. Even now at 40, I'm Joey. The reason why I'm up here has everything to do with the fact that I am my father's son. Meaning that like Dad, I can't pass up an opportunity to tell stories. Which is what I'm here to do today. Dad lived a full and amazing life and I am going to try to tell the story of his life by sharing our memories of him.

Dad was born on July 9th 1945 in Glasgow Montana. While taking my brother, Tony, and I on a trip to the old homestead in Glasgow, we both learned that things are very different there. Take hunting for example. Here in Washington, you have to pack for days in the woods. You get up at Oh My God thirty and eat a hasty camping breakfast. You have to hang out in the woods for hours and hours in hopes of seeing game. In Montana, you sleep in and have a huge home-cooked breakfast. You jump in the truck and drive to the back woods. And finally, you roll down the window and choose the one of many bucks you see.

Dad was one of four kids; Older sister Karen, Older brother Mick, and younger sister Mary Jo. Their childhood was pretty typical, they lived on a corner lot so their house was the place to gather and play baseball and football. There were bike races. Mary Jo credits Dad for making her a tomboy. He gave Mary Jo her first baseball mitt and basketball. Mick and Dad used Karen's bike to vulture parts from when theirs broke.

While growing up, Dad was into sports. Given the athletic ability that Tony and I both exhibit, he must have been great. He played football for Rainier Beach High School and I'm sure it wasn't his fault that they never won a game.

After high school, Dad joined the Navy and became a Seabee. The Seabees, short for Construction Battalion, are the guys that build roads, buildings, fortifications and myriad of other things. While serving in Viet Nam on Team 0311 and 0312, he helped build the bases for the Special Forces units. The Seabees would always be a big deal in Dad's life. 40 years after the team went their separate ways, Dad was part of an effort to get the guys back together and have a team reunion. After that, the guys were in contact with each other via email and social media. There were trips to other reunions. He was very proud to be a part of a great team and a great group of men with bonds that unite them even now. Inspired by Dad’s service, his two nephews, Bill and Doug Shaffer also joined the Seabees.

When he finished his military commitment, he completed his apprenticeship and worked for several steel fabricators in the area until he finally found a home at Seattle City Light. His last twenty years were spent in Construction Engineering as a field inspector. This was truly a job he loved. After putting in 29 years into a company that he really enjoyed, Dad retired. After his retirement, the light rail project seems to have hit a snag and slowed down some. A coincidence I’m sure. Since Pops didn’t need it anymore, he gave me his “I’m a Super Import Dude Because I Wear A Yellow Hard Hat” and told me to go forth and cause mischief. Wearing that hat and carrying a clipboard opened any door on a Seattle construction site. It was so awesome. No one cares about a low voltage guy but a City Light Muckity Muck could go anywhere and see anything. I eventually discovered a slightly bad side effect that would manifest after people learned that I was in no way, shape or form a City Light employee. I also learned from my father that the better part of valor sometimes means just walking away. I now keep the hard hat as a memento for my father.

As I stated earlier, Dad had two boys: Joseph Anthony and Anthony John. Junior Joe and TJ. Most of my earliest memories of Dad revolve around sports. Sundays at Dad's place was all about the Seahawks. There was one game in November 1984 where Dave Brown intercepted two passes and returned them both for touchdowns. I think that is the game that cemented my love for the Hawks. Tony and I learned math from Dad while playing darts. He would have us figure the three dart double out before we took our turn while playing 301.

Dad's love of football wasn't just for his boys. George, Mary Jo's husband, has a great story about their trip to the Rose Bowl in the early '80s. The three of them drove down to Pasadena to meet Mary Jo's friend, Stacey, and then stay at Stacey's cousin's place. One of the nights before the game, they were hanging out and not much was happening. Of course this doesn't sit right with my Pops so he asked George "Can I borrow the car tonight?" He takes the car and heads out to bar that he had previously scouted out and played some darts. After he had his night out, Dad came back to the house only to find it locked up tight. If Dad was anything, he was a problem solver. Seeing a trellis that reached an upstairs bedroom, he started to climb up. While Dad could figure out solutions to problems, he sometimes missed on the execution. So of course the owner of the house heard Dad, reached the logical conclusion that someone was trying to rob the place and went outside to see what was going on. By the time he got there, Dad was just entering the window. Say what you want, but Dad always made an impression with people.

Being a Beach, I have heard all the Beach jokes out there. Life's a Beach. Dude, as long as you aren't a Nude Beach! Son of a Beach. My Mom really likes that one by the way. The best one, by far, is my Stepmom's name: Sandie Beach. People just don't believe that it's a real name. Then I tell them about the dog, Pebbles. Yeah, Pebbles Beach. Let that soak in for a second. Almost my whole life there has been a doxen in it. Dad was gruff with the dog but loved her like crazy. You don't lay on air mattress in the pool with the dog lying on top of you while she drinks sips of beer that you pour in your belly button if you don't love that dog.

Dad and Sandie have been together for 35 years. It was a dart tournament that started it all. When Dad walked into the bar, he saw a pretty young blonde. He then said "I'm going to win and I choose the blonde. Sure enough, he won the tournament and to the victor goes the spoils.

Dad’s favorite baseball player was Nolan Ryan. Whenever the Ryan Express came to Seattle, Dad would take us to the game. While he loved watching Ryan pitch and hearing the smack as the ball hit the catcher’s glove, Dad above all, wanted to catch a foul ball. Game after game and nothing but disappointment. Not even one ball was hit close to us. Then, when Dad started to believe he would never get a ball, one was hit to us. It seemed as if the dream was finally going to be realized and it was going to be ours. The ball kept flying over our heads and landed two rows above us. Some guy reached up to catch it only to have it slip between his hands, bounce off his head and landed in Dad’s lap. Sandie saw that the guy was bleeding from a cut above his eye and asked Dad if he was going to give the man the ball, Dad answered “If he wanted it, he should have caught it.” We also witnessed history. We got to see the last pitch Nolan Ryan ever threw in a Major League Baseball game. The last hit Ryan gave up was to Mariner Dann Howitt, a grand slam. Don’t worry if you don’t recognize the name, I Googled Dann Howitt to see what he is doing now but Google didn’t know either.

 

As Tony got older, Dad started to introduce activities which they could do together. The almost annual fishing trip to Sekiu was one of them. Tony would stay the night at Dad and Sandie’s the evening before they left, and get up really early the next morning to beat traffic for the long drive. Dad, always hoping for a nice dialogue on the way up, would mostly be met with silence as Tony would knock off before they hit Tacoma.  After a few years, Dad tried different tricks to keep him awake. But Tony, who didn’t yet drink coffee, and possessing the Beach talent of being able to fall asleep anywhere, thwarted them all. Cranking up Paul Harvey at a high volume is like white noise to a teenager. The drive was long for Dad and a refreshing nap for Tony. While at Sekiu, the victories were many as plenty of fish were pulled out of the straits of Juan De Fuca, even as other things didn’t go as well. There was crashing the trailer into the diner. Accidentally sending an older couple, who were lost in the fog, back out to sea. Getting seasick, or as they called it “chumming the water”. Losing expensive tackle to the bottom of the ocean because let’s face it, the cheap stuff never gets lost. But most importantly, enjoying the gentle sway of the waves, the sound of the seagulls and the nervous anticipation of yelling FISH ON!

Twenty some years ago, Dad bought a 1966 Ford Mustang. He spent those years loving restoring that car. He recruited Bill to help him out since he is a Ford Fixing Ninja and those two tinkered, chromed and made that car beautiful. So beautiful in fact that she won six car show awards. We’ll just gloss by the fact that they were all second place awards. Getting second builds character they say. It’s also been said that second place is the first loser. I believe that we all know where dad fails in this argument. 

Dad also introduced golf to Tony. When dad picked up the golf bug, he naturally tried to hook his sons.  While I didn’t take to it, Tony couldn’t resist. As Dad got more involved, so did Tony. Each time Dad thought his clubs were the problem, Tony got Dad’s old set. Needless to say, Tony upgraded from a starter set to very nice golf clubs in a few short years. They would play courses all over, but the Lake Chelan golf trip was the best. It was Tony’s introduction to the golf vacation, a trip specifically to play many rounds at many places over many days. During one of these trips, dad pulled off a mini miracle. While struggling through the front nine of a beautiful sunny day, dad put his tee in the ground on the 10^th hole. Trying to pick dad up, Tony said something to the extent, “new nine holes, start it off well.” Dad pulled out his best swing of the day, driving the ball into the sky. As the ball climbed in elevation heading straight down the fairway, a bird flew across the flight path intersecting exactly with the speeding ball. The bird and ball collided and feathers went poof fluttering down to the ground. Unfortunately, the ball also went straight down. For all of Dad’s perfect swing execution, the ball went 100 yards and didn’t make the fairway. It was Dad’s only birdie of the day. Golf is still very much a part of Tony’s life. Golf trips like the ones to Chelan are still part of his life. I know Tony is going to miss teeing it up with Dad.

Christmas Eve at Grandma’s there was a tradition that the youngest child has to sort the presents. Tony and I hated it. When you are a kid, you just want to open the presents. Who cares how they get to you? Well now that we have kids of our own, this tradition doesn’t seem so bad. One of the best things that I got to experience over the summer was bringing my family to hang out at Dad and Sandie’s house, with Tony and his family. Once again the house was full of kids running around and playing in the pool. The look at pride on Dad’s face was something I will carry with me forever.

On September the 21^st, Dad passed away quietly with a pretty blonde girl holding his hand. The same girl that he met 35 years ago, on September 21, at a dart tournament. Goodbye Dad, you will missed by many people. The world is a little less funny and a little more quite. We love you.

Here Is A GIF Of Me Looking Awesome

Last Week In Review: The Meatloaf Edition

Tuesday.

Wendy: What do you want for dinner? Me: Your Super Awesome Meatloaf! W: That takes too much time, it's a weekend thing. Me: I can wait! Yay.

Thursday.

Wendy: Remember, we have Jordan's baseball practice and then Jared's party Saturday. Me: Sooooooo, no meatloaf on that day huh? W: That's right; Saturday is about other people, not just you eating meatloaf.

Sunday morning.

Wendy: The massage place called and they can get me in for the spa day that you got me for Valentine’s Day. Me: And this affects our dinner plans hoooooooow? W: Yeah, I won't have time to make meatloaf. Me: So, betrayed by my romantic gesture! See, this is why guys hate Valentine’s Day! It always screws us out of Super Awesome Meatloaf!

Sunday afternoon.

Wendy: That spa treatment was so great. Thank you Baby. Me: I'm glad you enjoyed it. Hey, what is in all those grocery bags? W: Stuff for meatloaf. Me: What?! Is there meatloaf in my immediate future? W: Yes, it looks like I have the time to get it done. Me: YAY!

Sunday evening.

Me: So worth the wait! Thank you girl, you are too good to me. Wendy: You are very welcome. And now, get in the kitchen and clean that mess!

The Conversation I Am Dreading With My Ten Year Old

I can see myself sitting on the couch, banging away on the keyboard writing weird Joey stuff, with my headphones on listening to music. Jordan would see me and being the naturally curious boy that he is, he would tap on my shoulder. “What are you listening to?” Now, those of you that know me really well will say that I have terrible music tastes.  I would be inclined to agree but despite that, I have no problems talking about it.

“I am listening to Winger.”

“Winger? That’s a weird name.”

“Yeah, that’s true but there is a reason for it.” A quick Google Image search later and I show Jordan a bunch of pictures. “This is Kip Winger. He is the singer and the band is named after him.”

 “Oh…why is his shirt off in all the pictures?”

Ah, the 80’s. How do you explain the 80’s to a kid? You don’t, you punt instead. “That’s a good question; you are full of good questions.” I would then put my headphones back on and get back to writing. However, knowing Jordan this would not be the end of it.

“Can I listen too?” While it’s all well and good that I listen to this stuff but how, as a guy trying to be a responsible father, can I subject him to it?

“No, no you can’t”

“Well, why not?”

“Because Winger is small part of a larger grab bag of things from the 80’s that should just die with my generation.  I know you don’t understand right now but you will later when your kids ask you about Ke$ha.”