A new outdoor friend?

My second Dad, Tom Dolaskie, was as good a friend and mentor as a man could get. I learned a lot about the out of doors from him. I also learned a lot about how to act in life, how to live your life without being arrogant, and taking an observers view of the passing of time rather than worrying about it.

His son, Tommy Jr. is not an out door person, but is a good guy. As good as they get. He also seems to exhibit a lot of his father's style.

Now comes Tommy's son, Tommy Dolaskie the IV. I think I'll call him Tommy Quad, for fourth. I knew him as a little kid. I met him once as and adult. However I have observed him on Facebook and have come to admire and like his style. I believe he probably is a little more glitzy than his Dad and his Grandfather, but he seems to have a good heart. I have proposed a remembrance fishing trip next summer up in Munising. He seems to be for it. Perhaps I will have a new out door partner that treads lightly on my consciousness the way his Grandfather did. By that I mean we talked about trying new ways of hunting or fishing, but it was done as equals and neither of us felt dependent or beholden to the other to be in the field. We always walked as equals, but we weren't he was always the better man.

Here's to the future. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to return the favor and be an example for my 2nd Dad's grandson.

Why I didn't go

My 2nd Father died a few years ago. I did not go to the funeral. I live 800 miles away. I would've had to make the drive by myself. I did not have enough time. That's all bullshit.

Tom was as much my Dad as my Dad was. My father (real) provided me with food, shelter, love and encouragement. I was not a mistreated son, I was much loved and loved in return. However my 2nd Father was also a son's dream. A true outdoors-man. A skilled hunter, a skilled fisher, and a person who lived off the land for much of their food. There was much to learn, much to experience and too much to tell in this tale.

He died quietly as he lived. He died in his pickup truck getting ready to drive up to the road to get the mail. He passed quickly, peacefully, and with his wife of over 60 years nearby. He had just come off the ice of the inland lake he lived on after spending the last few hours of his life fishing.

I didn't go to his funeral. I cried at his passing. I cried in thanks for all of the wonderful memories he allowed me to participate in. I grieved because I missed him so much.

His oldest daughter and I were married. We were high school sweethearts. I had been fishing with Tom since I was 16 years old. I hunted partridge with him. We picked mushrooms, wild leeks, cranberries, blueberries, we cut trees and roofed garages and snowmobiled on Lake Superior. I was truly his son.

I was not close with the rest of the family. His wife Glady and I talked and I loved her in a fashion but there were issues and I probably more tolerated her than felt the love of a parent. My wife's sister Kathy, I loved her. I would not call us very close, but she was a nice person and I enjoyed visiting with her. Tom's son Tom and I were friendly. We did not do too much together, but I was around when he was a little kid. When he got older and married I didn't see him too often, but he was family. The last daughter, Lou I was not close with at all. I tolerated her because she was family but I didn't care too much for her. The oldest daughter, Bonnie. We were married 23 years. I loved her, what happened to that marriage would be speculation. I am sure I bear the bulk of the blame because of my alcoholism, but there are always two stories.

When Bonnie and I divorced I am sure I broke Tom's heart. He never said. He still called me his son-in-law, but I'm sure I hurt him deeply. His son didn't hunt with him, didn't like fishing, and was not much of an outdoor person. I was, and we were together constantly.

So when Tom died I did not go to his funeral. I couldn't face the hurt I had inflicted on him and thusly the family. The kids and I were not particularly close, but they all knew how Tom felt about me and how I felt about him. Bonnie and I spent hours playing cards, visiting, putting up with Glady's incessant meddling. We both loved Tom dearly. Me, I couldn't face the family.

My daughters encouraged me to come, after all I knew a lot of the stories. Brother Tom told others that I would show up, but I didn't. I couldn't face the consequences of my actions.

A few years before Tom died I made a trek back to the U.P. to go deer hunting with him. It cost me over $100 for the deer license for three hours of being in the woods with him again. We walked in an area that had deer sign but no deer. I knew we wouldn't see any, and I think he did too. It was an exercise in being together in the woods one last time. I came out the next morning to see if he wanted to go again, he couldn't his legs would not support him and he was in a lot of pain. But he pushed himself the day before so we could be together in the snowstorm lurking about in the woods. It was the last time in the woods for he and I. I will always treasure it.

The night before the point of no return I lay awake in the middle of the night debating with myself whether or not I should get up in the morning and leave for the funeral. I tossed and turned, fretted and worried. I was a coward. All of a sudden as I lay in the bed a soft warmth crept through my body. A sense of well being and comfort came over me and I knew it would be all right if I didn't go. Call it what you may but I think Tom's love understood my dilemma and told me it was OK. A parting gift from a man I dearly loved.

Tough background

In the face of all of the hard luck stories you read about and where someone drags themselves out of economic tough times I have decided my family also has its history. I do not know a lot of facts because my Grandmother and Dad were of that generation where you just accepted your lot in life and played the best hand you could with the cards you were dealt.

My Grandmother Nettie, or Toot as we knew her, was born in 1876. She married a man named Burton Floria, my grandfather. Burt was a millwright by trade and they moved from the Remus, MI area to Manistique in the Upper Peninsula. Burt worked in the logging industry and Toot kept house. My Father was born in Manistique, MI and as a small baby the family moved to Grand Marais, MI probably around 1903. My Dad's brothers were born in Grand Marais, I believe. Burt built a home for his family which still stands to this day. My Dad told me there are boards in that home that are 36" wide, cut from the White Pine that dominated the forests at that time.

Burt apparently left the family sometime around 1909 - 10. I don't know the year, but I believe they spent a few years in Grand Marais before moving to Munising in 1913. Times were tough. There was no government program to aid destitute families and I've got to believe that mine was one of them. One of the stories Dad told me concerned an incident where he picked some small tin pails of strawberries along the lake shore and was headed home with them. A neighbor lady stopped him and asked him how much he wanted for the berries, he said a quarter. She gave him a quarter. He promptly went to a local store and bought a big container of oats which is what they ate much of the week for food.

Dad also described that Toot would bake six loaves of bread on Thursdays and the weekend. So obviously bread was a staple in their diet. In addition Toot would take the kids in the summer out berry picking. Toot and another lady would rent a team driven by a man and they would go out into the surrounding forests to pick raspberries, and other types of berries as they came into season. These she canned, made jam and sold, or some how derived some income from. In addition she took in laundry for the teachers that were located in Grand Marais to bring some money into the home.

I assume as with many families at the time the home she lived in was paid for. So at least they had a roof over their heads and that couldn't be taken from her. Other than that from things my Dad said over the years life was tough. There were times that Dad would recall some event from his childhood and just shake his head and mutter that it was tough, real tough and he had a great love and respect for his mother.

My Father always talked about the love and humor that Toot had and the antics of his brothers. Having seen my father and his brothers interact over the years I can tell there was a lot of good old fun had in there younger years. Dad always talked about his brother Earl and Cecil as being the source of the humor, but listening to them talk about early days I have a feeling the "Old Man" was right in the thick of things.

My Dad always kept a connection with Grand Marais through the years. When he ran his insurance business in Munising he had customers in Grand Marais and knew many of the people in the community. After he moved to Milwaukee he, his brothers, and my brother Dean and I made a trek back to Grand Marais to find the old homestead and to visit the community. I can tell you from participating in the trip that it was one raucous time and hardly a time when by without laughter.

So, the roots of my immediate past were founded in tough times. I have a feeling that were those circumstances recreated today Toot and her boys would've been far below the poverty level and eligible for government subsistence. Whether they would've taken assistance is another question, but they had no choice at the time. Perhaps that is where some of the metal was forged that made our family what it is today.