goo goo g'joob.

I have written a little about my Dad here. None of it very flattering. The truth is I didn't know him well. He was a young inexperienced father with few role models. He was killed when I was 15 and had been at sea or stationed away from us for almost 9 of those years. We didn't have a lot in common.

When we moved to Australia our household shipment was inexplicably diverted to Malaysia where it sat for several months leaving us at the mercy of U.S. Navy issued bed linens, towels and kitchen items. Our Navy house was furnished when we moved in so at least there was furniture. In the months before our shipment arrived I had only the toys and clothes that my mother had packed in our suitcase when we left Hawaii, not much.

When Christmas came we still had no shipment, No presents! They were all lost somewhere with our household stuff. We didn't have much money and everything in the wilds of Western Australia was much more expensive than my parents had planned for. But they made due, my mother could make anything and she made that whole Christmas on a shoestring budget with her hands. A slightly off kilter bush from the back yard for a tree and lots of handmade items and paper chains for decorations. Just before the holiday a box arrived from my grandparents in California. It had been in the mail for weeks. APO/FPO was not a fast system in 1974. Inside were gifts and a music box with a candle angel on top. I remember winding and rewinding it for hours. Also for me in the box was a giant plush walrus from my Uncle Larry. 11 years my senior Uncle Larry was my hero and when we lived in the same place I tagged around after him, relentlessly. I am sure I was a complete pest and major style cramper for his teen aged self. But the Walrus was from him and I loved it. It had soft, silky hair and big brown eyes. Why a Walrus? I don't know. But I carried it everywhere.

Shortly after Christmas we experienced our first real cyclone. Since we lived in one of the newer wood frame houses we were assigned a family in a block house to go to for shelter. The block houses were older and made of cinder block with small windows. The Cyclone warning came and we hung the huge plywood shutters on our windows, filled the tub with water and left the house. My Dad put the Walrus in the washing machine to keep him safe. He was too big to take with us.

We drove across town in the rented military vehicle that was assigned to my Dad ( his truck was with our household stuff...somewhere) With only our clothes, some food and a jerry can full of water. There would be lots of families in the block house and no room for anything else.

My seven year old self was pretty freaked out by the wind and the crashing trees and flying debris. I had never seen anything like a tropical cyclone. I think I held it together pretty well but I wanted my Walrus. My Dad would not have appreciated histrionics but my quiet, scared weeping must have done him in. He dropped my Mom and I and our supplies off at the front of the house and we ran inside. We thought he was driving around the back to park the jeep on the more leeward side of the storm. But he didn't come in. He didn't come back for a long time and when he did he had my Walrus. My gruff, no nonsense military Dad had driven back across town into a cyclone to retrieve a toy for me.

The following 24 hours were pretty scary. We had no radios and no phones, the windows were covered by plywood and we were in a house with virtual strangers. When the eye went over we all trudged outside and looked at the havoc. I stood there holding my Walrus, in my Dad's strong shadow and I felt safe.

Walrus hangs out on Doodle's bed now. He's a little worn and could use a bath. But he's still good and I am glad that I have a little bit of happy memory of my Dad hanging around.