Dad's Memories

I spent some time with my Dad this weekend. Since it was just me and my parents, I took the opportunity to ask them some questions about their lives.

Dad said his father was a bit of a lazy guy. He didn't do much and really didn't know how to take care of himself very well; he was swindled by business partners and lost a good bit of money. His grandfather, though, was a smart guy. Dad doesn't remember how he passed away; apparently he died when my dad was very small. My dad's favorite foods were idli, sambar, and chicken. He lived, after second grade, with his aunt and uncle. He said he didn't ask for much, since he had to take what he was given. He said he pretty much lived his life that way in India, and didn't learn to speak up for himself until he went to college.

Dad went to graduate school at Duke University. He got his PhD there. When he came over from India, he had a room in dorm, and he roomed with a guy named Jeff Hoyt. As far as food went, when he went to restaurants, he only really recognized hard-boiled eggs. So he ate those every day with milk the first few weeks. Apparently that gave him a good bit of discomfort (gee, wonder why). So his roommate Jeff took him out and ordered steaks. "How am I supposed to eat this, Jeff?" Dad asked. "With a knife and fork!" Jeff replied. Jeff apparently is an administrator at a high school in Massachusetts, now.

Dad said one day, he found a wallet in a bathroom at Duke. It had a driver's license and $60. A lot of money in those days, around 1966. My dad said he found the number of the guy from a secretary, and called him up and told him that he had the wallet. The guy, another graduate student, met my Dad at his dorm and spent two hours talking with him. He shook my dad's hand when he left. Jeff was sitting there, watching my dad, in amazement. "I thought kids from India just took money they found because they were so poor!" Dad said, "Well, it wasn't mine." My dad thinks that really made an impression on Jeff, because the next semester, they both decided to live together in an apartment off-campus because it was cheaper. Unfortunately, Jeff ended up leaving Duke after that first year because he was drafted.

Dad likes to tell the story about how he went to a diner with a friend named Dick Stevenson. The diner had a sign posted, "whites only." He apparently didn't understand and went in to eat with his friend. He was promptly escorted out, and thankfully, his friend left too.

I didn't realize that he had to work to pay for the dorm and apartment. Apparently, his job was to take measurements of rooms for the School of Engineering. They did that as a job? He was paid $1.25 an hour. He said that was good money. He worked with his friend Paramesh and also with Dick.

He went fishing with Paramesh and Dick one weekend. I asked if he'd gone fishing much in India. "No way, that's low class in India. You hire people to do that. People would look at you like you were crazy if you said you went to fish!"

Dad got his first driving lesson from a country guy named Bill (I think). Bill took Dad out, first thing, on the interstate. "You're 30 years old! You should be able to do this!" Bill said. Dad had driven 20 mph, max, in India, and started getting nervous after a while. Bill let Dad pull over after that. Later, Dad somehow scraped enough money together ($250) to buy his first car. It was a Chevrolet Biscayne, didn't get great gas mileage, but it was a set of wheels. He bought it from a priest. He figured it must have been a good deal since it came from a priest.