There's Dirt on My Shirt: The American Dreamsicle

By Rodney Ficker

There’s Dirt on My Shirt: The American Dreamsicle tells the story of an immigrant family boy navigating two cultures and growing American roots. His family adopted American values, idealism, and discovered the essence of America and the land of opportunity. The grateful family came with the barest essentials and flourished in the land of the free and the home of the brave. As did so many before them.

Vade Macum

--Professor Carl Wilbur, Latinist

Never have so many words said so little.

--Robin Ficker, Esq, brother

This book takes storytelling to a new level.

--Aesop

Rod's book grabs you by the lapels and throws you down the stairs.

--David Fisher, Counselor to the Truly Needy. former notary public

Dad, no singing sea chanty songs in the car

  --son, Alex

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781636307091

Book preview

What Was Your Dad Like When You Were a Child?

This will be my first attempt at relating via story about my life and then your life and the lives around you as an immigrant family with a proud and varied heritage. The legacy of your grandparents, Hermann and Olive Ficker, can never be discounted or forgotten. They were the most wonderful parents one could wish for as a child and, after careful consideration, as an adult. Firstly, I would relate the wonderful qualities of your grandfather, Hermann Olaf von Adlershein Ficker. As a lad growing up in Cape Town, South Africa, his family constantly engaged in work around their farm. His Father, a giant of a man—six foot eight inches German soldier—had died during WWI. His brothers, Dan and Fred, were also impressively large men but didn’t help as much as Hermann with the farm and had other interests. Later as a teen, Danny was badly injured in a motorcycle accident and died a few months later after a long struggle with injuries from that accident. Frederick, his older brother, was more interested in medicine and worked in a hospital in Rhodesia dying at the advanced age of ninety-eight years. Gram was not fond of Fred allegedly because Fred ate some of her chocolates, a gift to her from Gramps and which were raided by Frederick without her permission. She was a stickler for etiquette.

Life on the farm required lots of hard manual labor. Gramps, the patriarch, of the clan was a tough, strong lad who excelled at rugby and other sports. Those chores developed his physique, and he blossomed into an exceptionally strong fellow with incredibly powerful arms and hands like a vice. This all is reflected in his outlook later in life where he noted, I will always get up after being tackled. He loved to regale us with tales of rugby games with the famous, Gerhardt Morkel, who reputedly once kicked an eighty-yard field goal. Gramps loved the story of the rugby game where a melon was painted as a rugby ball and the first kick resulted in a large explosive squishy surprise. As a raconteur and storyteller, Gramps could weave a story, but his jokes were just as bad as mine are, embellished but still full of vinegar and killer punch lines making some listenersmoan. Alas, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree. The Fisher Cup, a prize worthy of a class 1 British sportsman, was won with effort and great competitive spirit. Many unwritten rules applied: Don’t demean yourself by being a bad sport, never cheat, or play utilizing underhanded tactics. That isn’t British heritage and not how we play the game.

Gramps had a number of qualities which were not typical of the farm boy. Even though most growing up on farms learned to repair equipment with mechanical devices, Gramps always used stronger and stronger tape instead of accepted engineering repairs. It was a banner day when he got a huge roll of stainless steel tape in the mail billed as the world’s strongest tape. He took the roll and repaired Gram’s favorite bird feeder, which she insisted needed immediate attention as the birds were impatiently waiting. Instead of a mig or tig weld it was a strong sticky tape.

Now for the direct answer to the question of how my parents approached life. Gramps and Grammy valued education and always impressed us with the idea that you must use discipline, study, take schoolwork seriously, and apply yourself completely and earnestly to studies. Frankly, it was very much like the Confucian ideal of veneration of the elders, teachers, educators, and fealty to the idea of personal responsibility. When Gramps would take me to school, I would ask him what should I do today? He said, Learn all you can, apply yourself, and assume your responsibilities.

I then said, But, Dad, I am only seven—what does that mean?

You will know later.

As Rene Descartes opined, Every day in every way, I am getting better.

Gramps had a hand grip like a vice in a blacksmith forge. If he shook your hand, you immediately knew who was boss. Nobody could outgrip Gramps. As a raconteur, he would laugh and tell the story of the legendary off cited, Gerhardt Morkel who, when asked which direction the town might be, advised the stranger by holding up the plow and pointing in the southerly direction. Gramps would double down on the exercise by having fifty tons of logs dumped into the back of the house and splitting them or sawing them with a shark-toothed lumberjack saw. On the other end, I would hang on like a rag doll on the cylindrical handle while Gramps sawed up the logs pretending it was with my help. I still have those saws in my garden shed. They now appear to be relics and tools of antiquity but hang in a strategic location reminding me of the aroma of sawdust and the satisfaction of hardwork.

Sunday typically brought the smell of kippers and eggs in the kitchen. Kippers are a British dish consisting of smoked herring and emit a really pungent odor when plopped into the skillet with some water. Then it was off to Sunday school at the Lutheran Church, and there were no excuses for tardiness or nonattendance except for Gram who got a pass. We weren’t sure why, but she had a falling out with some people at the Seventh-Day Adventist congregation and then refused to attend services. She still was a spiritual and religious person but kept her religion and the source of her faith as a basically private concern. Gram did not attend services, but Gramps took pride in teaching the adult Sunday school which always had an overflow crowd because he taught with such enthusiasm and oratorical aplomb. His oratory skills were keen and his descriptive prowess immense.

As an eggheaded type, Gramps was a Rhodes scholar and erudite fellow especially conversant in many languages. The word games in the household were many and often practiced with pride and tutorial splendor. Also it was his habit to engage in crossword puzzles, especially difficult ones, in record time. I remember his scope and depth of information and language, word etymology, and his ability to recall words with multiple meanings. With a great command of Greek and Latin, Gramps could always finish even the most difficult puzzles such as those in the London Times. He loved to play chess and regularly had a group of men with PhD degrees and similar scholarly backgrounds over for a bit of a game and comradery. Once a Zulu chief, whom Gramps had taught to play chess in Africa, showed up at our home to play chess with Gramps. He was a tall and imposing figure with colorful robes and in full regalia. As a small lad I answered the doorbell to see as tall a man as I had ever seen. I am here to play chess with your Father. Is he home? Gramps would beat them all. Dr. Krould, the Austrian chess champ, had a wife, Rita, who was friends with Gram. She asked Gram one day, Do you suppose your husband could let Harry win once in a while? Harry is very grumpy when he loses every week to Hermann and comes home from those chess sessions in a complete snit.

Gram hated the cigar smoke created by spirited play and intense contemplation of strategic moves. She tolerated it because she knew how much Gramps enjoyed the chess and the interaction with the other eggheads. Playing chess was a favorite pastime and it was a game of strategy, intellect, and patience. Gramps would tell you, Be careful, you have only a few moves left before checkmate. That would make you nervous and ready to crack like an overdone hardboiled egg. How is he going to do it? Then came the crushing blow of the discovered check. Alas, I never could win, and neither could the others who came to play. It was like walking into a nest of nettles until you were vanquished—the intellectual gladiator battle! The anticipation of the classic fatal blow was too nerve convulsing. The parrying, the feints, the final dagger to the heart! The queen would drop to the board in conciliatory position!

Thus it was that growing up in our foreign household of immigrant fare coming to America was different. Gramps still was avidly patriotic as an American. He loved Kate Smith, and when she would sing on her daily TV show, The Kate Smith Show, Gramps would sit in the rocking chair in front of the TV. When Kate belted out God Bless America by Irving Berlin, he would rise in reverence and salute. Once he whispered to me, This is the greatest country in the entire world. Never forget it, Roddy. He meant it so sincerely. When shown his high school rugby photo, he said, They all died in the war, every one of them except for one other fellow, my friend Lionel. Times were different then, and people knew that freedom wasn’t free and that many sacrifices were made. We became Americans with pride. At the Langley Theater, a neighborhood theater, we went to see the Walt Disney movie Westward Ho the Wagons! Caught up in the moment as the Conestoga wagons went across the cinemascope wide screen Gramps stood up in the theater and yelled, Westward Ho the Wagons. The usher came and said, Sir, you will have to sit down. The exuberance was unbridled. Sometimes he would embarrass us, but we knew of his intense American enthusiasm and love of the United States for taking us as almost refugees before the onset of WWII. It was a great gift of citizenship in his eyes. Isn’t it the duty of the parents to embarrass the kids sometimes? When Gramps left the mortal coil, it was a terrible, sad day for us all. Even the lady at the grocery store and other people would tell me how they missed his conversation and good attitude toward life. How does one replicate such a model? Gramps was one of a kind, and I don’t just say that because I am his son.

What Was Your Mom Like When You Were a Child?

The question for today is What was my Mother like when I was a child? As I noted before with my Father, I could not have wished for a more loving, attentive, forgiving, and well-grounded parents. They fulfilled their duties as parents in so many ways basically by being who they were as responsible members of society, teaching us about life, spirituality, morality, and the vast expanse of educational opportunities that other American children may not have had because of the less-educated nature of their parents. They lived the role-model responsibility well because that was their basic sense of life. My Mother, Olive, was one of three sisters growing up in a vastly different part of the world, South Africa, with British values of propriety, duty, moral responsibility, and humility. As a girl, my Mother was someone who read voraciously and always quoted English literature, poetry, and works of great authors. She loved writing poems herself and playing music. Her many notebooks were replete with important lines from poems, words of wisdom, and philosophy. She quoted them readily and always had a situational phrase from literature apropos for everything one could imagine.

As a nurse for more than sixty-five years, she had the perfect disposition for her career. Working as a nurse at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, she took her role seriously and sincerely. She comforted, nurtured, cared for the sick and the infirm and made the patient feel important and calm. Patients from years ago never forgot her nursing ability and how she cared for them in their illness. Most of all she loved to work in the nursery with the newborn babies. Later at the US Naval Hospital in Bethesda, Maryland, she would work the night shift so that she could work with the newborn infants. Her voice was soft, and one always got her sense of kindness and loving nature in a conversation with her. I never witnessed her doing a mean or inconsiderate act to anyone. How this is possible you may question, but it is the truth. To a fault she almost always considered the children first along with my Father and put herself last in consideration. This resulted sometimes in others taking terrible advantage of her kindness. Still she would say, Life is like a boomerang. What you put into the lives of others will return. Sometimes people came to apologize to her for something they had done without thinking or because they would have a selfish motive. Her response was forgiving and understanding.

Another great quality about my Mother was her wonderful love of laughter and happiness, beauty in nature, and appreciation for kind deeds. Her sisters mirrored those qualities, both Rene and Leila. In her later years, Leila, the eldest of the three sisters, assumed the role of a nurse in the nursing home until people identified her as a patient and not a caregiver. Never having the opportunity to meet my maternal grandparents I imagine they were wonderful teachers and spirits. Veneration for elders, education, and doing the right thing were paramount. My Mother put the highest value on learning and education. Doing your best in school, exhibiting discipline, and humility were important. Daily lessons came to us in many ways. How many people can say that about their parents? I still look back and think how lucky I was to have such parents. Olive is missed so much to this day and remains a wonderful role model for a caring and educating Mother. She loved her independence and even drove her car in her nineties much to our dismay. She would drive sitting on a phone book to boost her up on the seat. The staff at the Magruder’s grocery store all knew her as the wonderful little British lady with a smile for all. Gram said the secret to longevity was movement. She walked the neighborhood with a broom cut off at the bottom because she didn’t want the children in the area to think she was a witch. I can still see her plodding with that broom to get her exercise. Living nine years after the death of her husband was very difficult for her. Sometimes I would call her on the phone, and she would say, I’ll have to call you back, I’m speaking to your Father.

Where is he, Mom?

Why, he’s under the bed.

I guess that could be the truth. After sixty-five years of marriage, they were joined at the hip. Who will select the books now that Gramps is gone? I told her that now she would choose and she didn’t view the previous choices at the library as male dominance. She relied on my dad’s ability to choose for her sometimes. My Father when asked by the waitress for his order from the menu at a restaurant would say, I’m sorry, my wife hasn’t made up my mind for me yet! He willingly relinquished choices to her and deferred to her wishes on a regular basis.

She was such a positive influence in my life that I could count on her for support and encouragement. As a mom, she was proud of my achievements and told me never to fear a challenge. When in the third grade I was encouraged to try out for a role in the class play. This was unnerving for me as I was shy and not too self-assured and confident. The class play was to be Ulysses, with numerous characters from the classic and I was assigned the role of the Cyclops in the play who would threaten the crew of Ulysses. The part involved a wooden ruler with a large menacing eye which was to be held to the forehead in true Cyclops fashion. The only two words called for in the script were for me to say more wine while holding the large eye with ruler in a threatening way. When my Father arrived home from the office, my Mother described the apparently valuable role in the play for her son. My Father was not so sure but highly amused, and the following dialogue ensured. So you have captured the role of Polyphemus, the Cyclops in the play. Good for you, old lad, said my dad with a sense of the comedic. What lines do you have? he queried. When I told him more wine is all I have to say, he chuckled and noted that while not an extensive role, being cast as Polyphemus was an honor for the family. The next words cut me as I was somewhat timid about the role. My guess is that you could be a ‘dramatist of zero promise’ based on the dialogue, but I wouldn’t let that deter you in future plays. Mom was much more assuring and comforting saying that it was a beginning on the stage and, After all, I could be a budding thespian. Quelle chance! My dad always had a sense of irony and humor, so I didn’t take the joke too personally when he told me to keep practicing the lines and the excitement of the entry into the play. My Mother wasn’t too happy with my dad’s comments and told him to be more positive as it was an initial foray into acting. Dad assured me he was only teasing but was an expert drama critic.

In the last half decade of her life, she would not reveal to anyone her actual age. Why is it that older women sometimes have a desperate reluctance to keep their age secret? Even in a visit to the cardiologist,