Jul 10, 2024
Tales from the Dad Side: 1
When I first decided to create a blog, one of the things I wanted to do was to write stories about my father, using conversations I’d been recording with him. I wanted to do this for a few reasons: first, my dad lived a life unlike any other I’ve ever known and I feel that a lot of what he spoke about would make for awesome stories. But, I also knew that we didn’t have much time left.
Dad left us on June 20th, and I have been struggling with my grief. This is all new to me, I’ve lost loved ones and best friends — but I’d never lost my daddy.
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While I haven’t listened to the recordings yet, and may not for a while, I am going to move forward with my decision to write this memoir as a method of processing my grief. I suppose the best way to begin this project is by introducing you to whom I’ll be talking about — my old man, dad, daddy, daa-aaa-aad!!: Chuck Baldwin.
Sometimes Chug, never Chuckles. Charles to strangers and new medical staff, “Nunya” to people he didn’t like, and Punka to my children – whom he adored.
My mother put it best:
Charles Luis Baldwin, age 87, died at home after a long illness Thursday, June 20, 2024, with his wife by his side.
Chuck was born April 14, 1937, to George M. and Alice Armstrong Baldwin.
After graduating from Braceville School in 1955, he enlisted with the United States Army. Serving in the Military Police Corps, he remained on active duty for eight years until his honorable discharge, after which he joined the National Guard to continue his military career.
Chuck was in law enforcement for 18 years, including the U.S. Border Patrol, Trumbull County Sheriff’s Department, Howland Township, Newton Falls, and departments in Colorado, Arizona, Mississippi and Kentucky. After his law enforcement career, he worked at Denman Tire for 15 years. Chuck continued working after his retirement from Denman as a guard for several local banks and Camp Ravenna during his 10-year employment with Securitas Security Services Inc.
Chuck loved cars, guns and books, reading five to six books per week for most of his adult life. His pride and joy was a 1955 Chevy Bel Air he owned in his youth that was painted black with “tropical rose” fender flares. “They were NOT pink, dammit!” He loved spending time with family and being a Punka (grandpa), especially to his 2-year-old great-grandson named Wolf, who called him “Pumpa”. They were quite the pair, chatting like each understood what the other was saying as they solved the problems of the universe together.
Chuck is survived by his wife of 45 years, Terri Beckett Baldwin; and five children, daughters Mandy **, Traci Baldwin, Belinda ** and Dawn**; and son, Jerry **. He is also survived by six local grandchildren, Megan **, Patience **, Hunter **, Abigail **, Andrew ** and bonus grandson Wade **; three great-grandchildren, Ashley **, Wolf ** and Briar Rose **; and his feline family consisting of Fanny U. A**hole and Otis.
He was preceded in death by daughter, Cheryl; son, Robert A.; son-in-law, Jerry **; brothers, George and Robert “Bummer”; and sister, Janet.
To honor Chuck’s wishes, there will be no service. He will be cremated, and a celebration of his life will be held at a later date. Afterwards, his ashes will be taken to his beloved Martha’s Vineyard for eternity.
My dad was my best friend, my most energetic debate opponent, and my biggest cheerleader. He kept me grounded, but remained quietly sure of my potential. Because of him, I can change a tire, shoot straight, and wash dishes.
No, seriously. Dad was very particular about the dishes, and now I am as well.
“Have the water as hot as you can get it, add soap to your sponge, and use the scrubby side to get the shit off. Rinse it, now use the soft side to wipe the grease off. Make sure it squeaks!”
For 35 years, my dishes have squeaked. If they don’t — repeat the process.
When I was in kindergarten, my mom was having a procedure to remove a rib (thoracic outlet syndrome, look it up — kinda fascinating) and Dad was in charge, and Dad was awesome because he let me dress myself. After school, I remember holding his hand as we walked through the halls to the hospital to visit mom. I felt so pretty and fine, walking with my dad in my Big Girl outfit. We walked in mom’s room, after she greets us she asks “What in the hell are you wearing? Gold tights with a red and blue dress? Chuck — did you let her dress herself?”
My dad, my daddy, my hero, responded “Well, what the hell, that’s what she wanted to wear!”
He also taught me the secret to keeping your shirt tucked in when you didn’t have shirt stays (basically, suspenders for under your pants), he said you had to tuck it into your underpants. I did follow that advice once, but never repeated it. What I didn’t know is that when I did that, any time I moved, everyone could see my underpants poking out of my outer-pants.
So, dad’s advice wasn’t always the best, but he always meant the best. He would move mountains for the ones he loved. His terms of endearment were Brat, Tickturd, That Dickhead or Ya Big Dummy, but he always did it with a chuckle and a grin. He hugged too hard, and always apologized for it afterwards.
When I was young, I was convinced he could do anything. And when my grandfather passed away, and I was still only 7 years old, I asked my dad why old people died. He said “It isn’t just old people that die, baby. Anyone can die. Even kids your age can die.” So I tried to make him promise that he didn’t die until I was a little old lady, but he wouldn’t promise me that.
But he did give me 38 more years.
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