Thursday Thirteen...Kenneth Russell Snyder, Sr.

I began this post April 2nd with high hopes of striking "Publish Post" which not only meant I'd be on time for a Thursday Thirteen, but also that I'd have a bit of a tribute to mark my father's birthday this past Tuesday. Well, that didn't happen...I'm late...TT last week has come and gone...Tuesday, my father's birthday, came and went.

Thankfully I'm just stubborn enough to let pesky deadlines fade into the ever growing mound of "All Things Earnestly Procrastinated," and press on writing 13 things about my dad and finally striking the "Publish Post" key.

Thirteening MY DAD:


**Kenneth Russell Snyder was the youngest of four boys born to Norman E. Snyder and Thelma I. Donnolly Snyder on April 8, 1940 in the town of Lawrence, MA

**My dad lived with and was raised by his mother after his parents separated (although they never divorced until nearly thirty years later.)

**Places my dad called home throughout his 66 years: Lawrence, MA...Philadelphia, PA...Pleasantville & Atlantic City, NJ...Cape Coral, Florida...Jefferson & Washington, ME

**At age 19 my dad was in a car accident and the rescue workers actually toe-tagged him for the morgue! He came away with a big scar on his forehead and a story that he told us kids many times in order to make his point about the consequences of drinking and driving...But being kids we mainly focused on how cool that scar was!!

**On my dad's 21st birthday (April 8, 1961,) he went on a blind date with Betty L Gilbert...Legend has it that he fell head-over-heels in love that very night. Less than 4 months later they were married and would celebrate the anniversary of that union for the next 46 years.


**I learned to slow dance to the country music of Merle Haggard, George Jones, and Johnny Cash while standing on the tops of my father's feet. My dad was a smooth and graceful slow dancer...and when he held our mother's hand and the small of her back his tenderness took my breath away.

**It was said that although my dad wore watches, they were notorious for not keeping time...a byproduct of near electrocution?

Dad wasn't the luckiest man with regard to health, accidents, and the elements of nature--He was struck by lightning! It was on a summer night when one of those infamous Jersey lightning storms sent my dad to roll up the station wagon windows. As he reached for the door handle, he was struck on the hand. He recalled hitting the ground, and covering his head...the next thing he knew he was yelling at the front door for our mother to let him in--he was afraid to touch anything metal! They went to the hospital, where he refused to sit in the metal wheelchair...The story goes that his hair was standing on end...they found a black soot-like mark thought to be the exit point...and he swore the elastic band on his BVDs saved his life!


** Sometimes there's a defining moment when a superhero is recognized.
I had that experience during another of those NJ summer thunderstorms when my father appeared to risk life and limb to save our little weeping willow tree.
Vividly, I remember his rain soaked tee shirt, the stakes he drove into the ground, how quickly he tried to tie off this tender sapling. And he did it! It's been a good number of years since I drove through that old neighborhood, but whenever I had, it's the tree I look for first. It grew to be a beautiful, gigantic weeping willow! And that day my dad won my heart as a hero.

** By far, Dad's favorite cartoon



**I was nearly 17 years old when I was enlightened to the fact that my father had worked to build a nuclear power station when I was younger. I happened to be protesting about nuclear power during the nightly news in the late 70's when my mother stated with some irritation, "it certainly was good for our family for a time." WTF? That was when I first learned that my dad's many years as a foreman pipe fitter had been to construct a future nuclear power plant!

**Fishing was a passion my dad enjoyed all of his life. When I was little I remember mom making midnight sandwiches for dad's tackle box during striper fishing season...sending him on his way to cast-off from a big bridge in the company of other avid nighttime fishermen. Dad taught each of us to fish, but now it's my brother who's earned the honor of the golden tackle box (so to speak) passed down by our dad.

**Dad could throw a mean game of horseshoes and was quite impressive at shooting pool as well!
Sadly, I inherited neither of those talents.


**Since his death, February 13, 2007, my dad has been missed by his family, by me, more than he could have ever, ever imagined...



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