
My dad was hilarious. A true genius, yet grounded and down-to-earth. He was a Chief Petty Officer in the U.S. Navy and spent much of my childhood at sea.
When he came home, it was like Christmas morning. Yes, he often brought souvenirs, but that wasn’t it.
It was the bright excitement of possibility: of being near the person who felt like the most special person in the world. Of delight in the silliness and laughter that would soon be mine to soak in again.
My happiest childhood memories were from when Dad was home. He was always busy and creative: building with his hands, sailing, sketching, macramé… but most of all, he loved to laugh.
He made fun of life and taught me to do the same. Humor became my refuge when life got cruel. If I could find the funny, I could survive it; even better, if I could tell the story like a stand-up comic.
When he died, I lost that magic. The laughter disappeared. And for a long time, so did I.
But through all the grief and the slow climb back, I can say this:
I’m finally laughing again. And I swear, I can hear his chuckle in my ear.
In that spirit, here are some of the silly things he used to say when I was little that stick with me to this day. They’re not brilliant, but when speaking to a child you don’t have to be, you just have to be you.
Beans, beans
A musical fruit
The more you eat
The more you toot
The more you toot
The better you feel
So, I eat beans for every meal
When you're with your honey
And her nose is runny
You may think it's funny
But it'(s)not
Author's Note:
These aren’t my original poems; they were my first poems. My first taste of rhyme, of humor, of laughter that stays with you long after the sound fades.
I don’t know if Dad made them up or adopted them as his own, but they became part of him... and part of me.
My dad was a card. He could make me laugh and groan at the same time, often in the same breath.
For my tribute to him this year, I wrote Dather’s Fay to try and capture a sliver of his silly, unforgettable spirit.
For more about the man behind these lines and the acceptance he gave me, read A Father’s Gifts. — Liora
voice through fire | www.liorawrites.com
This space is free to read, but support is greatly appreciated!
These pieces come from the work of mending and reigniting, healing from trauma, finding tenderness again, and holding on to the wild, sacred fire that survives every storm.
If my work here speaks to you and you’d like to support it:
– Buy me a coffee – a small boost for the human behind the words.
– Feed the kitties – cover a day’s meals for the colony of feral and free-roamers I care for, and you’ll get my Whiskers in the Dark mini-zine as a thank-you.
Every like, comment, referral, and recommendation helps my work get seen. I appreciate honest engagement and connection. If something here moved you, share it.
To show my appreciation, I offer rewards for referrals. See the leaderboard for details.
If this lit a spark, subscribe free so the next ember finds you.
Lost in the fire? Head to the Welcome Page
This post is so charming and endearing. I hope my own children have their own silly memories of me!