See You Later, Dad

A tribute to my father

My Mom and Dad on their engagement day.

This is a special Monday Morning Mark dedicated to my Dad, who passed away on Friday, September 27, 2024, at the age of 89.

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I have spent the past three weeks in Michigan with my Mom, watching my Dad decline in health, suffer, fade, and finally pass away. Anyone who has had a similar experience will understand how difficult it is. But instead of sharing the sad details of my Dad’s passing, I want to use this issue to share some of his story, including three brief stories I previously wrote about him. In doing so, I hope to celebrate his life and hopefully still bring a smile to your Monday.

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My Mom and Dad met in the 9^th grade (in the 1950s) in Flint, Michigan, and became High School sweethearts. After school, my Dad joined the Air Force. He was stationed in Kansas, Alaska, and finally Oxford, England. While he was stationed in England, my Mom sold her car, quit her job, and bought a plane ticket to England, where they got married.

After leaving the Air Force, my Dad went to work at the General Motors Assembly Plant at West Willow Airport in Ypsilanti, Michigan. The same plant where women (and men) assembled B-29 bombers during World War II and the famed “Rosie the Riveter” character was born. He painted new cars.

U.S. National Archives and Records Administration, Public Domain

My brother Ken was born in 1959, and I followed in 1960. In 1961, we moved into a small ranch house near the airport, and my parents have lived there ever since.

Then and now. 1963 and 2024.

My Dad worked the afternoon shift at “the shop” (as he liked to call it) and then the midnight shift at a Shell gas station to provide for his family. So, most of my early memories of my Dad were on the weekends.

On Saturdays, he would play music on his record player—mainly southern gospel quartets and Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. His love of music undoubtedly influenced my own love of music.

Saturday nights were popcorn night. Here is a little poem I wrote about Popcorn Night.

Popcorn Nights in the 1960s

There are four glass bowls
Decorated with farm items
Each a different size
Allowing them to stack nicely
inside each other in the cupboard

It is Saturday night
Popcorn night
Time to watch a movie on television
Dad makes the popcorn

There is clanging in the kitchen
as Dad gets out the metal popcorn popper
He adds a dab of oil
and pours in some popcorn
Then he adds the lid

We wait
and wait
and wait

Slowly, we hear the kernels explode
Throwing other kernels against the sides
The intensity increases until it is an avalanche of sound
The popcorn is done!

Mom fills the smallest bowl first
It is mine
I am the youngest
Bowl size is determined by age

Then Mom fills the next largest bowl
For my weird brother
He likes to read instead of play outside
But he likes popcorn night

Dad starts another batch
We take our places in front of the TV
I hope there is a good movie on tonight

We have to wait until everyone
has their popcorn to start eating
Finally, Mom and Dad return from the kitchen

I hope Dad isn’t too hungry
and has some leftovers I can eat tonight
or sneak some in the morning
out of the bowl

Sometimes Dad makes a third batch
I like that
It means I get seconds
I like Popcorn Night

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Television at the time had five channels. Three network channels: ABC, NBC, and CBS. A local station (Channel 50) that played old movies (Bill Kennedy At The Movies) and reruns. And because we lived close to Canada, we got “the Canadian channel” (Channel 9 CBC), which showed hockey, curling, and BBC shows. And some Canadian kid’s shows like The Friendly Giant and Mr. Dressup.

There were no recording devices or streaming. You watched a show when it was broadcast, or you missed it. How times have changed.

Sundays were church, followed by eating out at The Beef Buffet. Afterward, my Dad would watch Star Trek or a war movie on TV.

In the 1960s, I was a “go outside and play” kid and spent much of my free time running the neighborhood with other kids. But as the years passed, I got to know my Dad better as we played board games and he drove me to Ann Arbor for guitar lessons.

Here is a story I wrote about my Dad based on my early memories. I pretended to be a kid in elementary school writing about his Dad.

My Dad

Mark Starlin

“Class, today’s assignment is to write a report about your father. You must include at least five things. You may add drawings if you like. Begin.”

My Dad
By Mark Starlin
April 01, 1968

My Dad has a really big mustash. Sometimes he curls the ends up with wax. My Mom doesn’t like that.

It is scary to ride in the car when my Dad drives.

He is left-handed. And can bend just the tips of his fingers down.

He drinks 100 cups of coffy a day. And he has a thermos he fills with coffy for work.

He tells storys to other grown ups and then laffs. He starts most of his storys with “There’s a kid at the shop…”

He plays music on the record player on Sundays. He has lots of albums.

He likes popcorn. Me too.

He works at The Shop. He makes cars. There is an airport there too. And trains. It is cool. But I am not allowed to go in.

He works in the afternoon and stays up really late. I wish I could stay up late. But Mom always says, “Go to bed. You have school in the morning.”

The end.

Several years ago, I wrote this silly little story for Father’s Day.

A Cheer For My Dad!

The cheap gift for the man who doesn’t really want anything.

Dad, I was thinking about Father’s Day gifts for you and decided a new Porsche would be cool. But then I remembered you are retired and don’t really have anywhere to go.

Then I thought, what about a new left-handed Rolex watch? But again, being retired, you don’t really need to know what time it is

So I thought, how about a top-of-the-line leather belt with a gold belt buckle that spelled out “CAL.” But then I remembered you wear suspenders.

Then I got the great idea to send you a Father’s Day card with 82 dollars in it because you’re 82 years old. But on the way to the card shop I drove by the donut shop, which is right next to the Mexican restaurant, which is right next to the ice cream place. And I was extra hungry from shopping. Then, after eating, when I went to get your card, there were Starbursts next to the check-out counter…

Well, I guess it’s the thought that counts.

Buying gifts is hard!

Finally, I figured I would just make you something. But with my limited carpentry and mechanical abilities, all I could come up with was writing you a cheer. So here it is:

You’re my Dad! 
You’re my Dad!
You’re the best Dad I ever had! 
Without a doubt! 
Kirk out!

I hope you enjoyed it, Dad.

Good times and bad. He was always my Dad. Early 1960s.

Love your youngest, most handsome (according to the latest poll,) and smartest (I’m not talking book smarts, I’m talking street smarts from the mean streets of suburbia) son Mark.

Not to be confused with your older son Ken, who to be fair, did produce a male heir to carry on the family name and assure that the Starlin dynasty continues. And also took on the selfless task of continuing the male Starlin mustache tradition. And can sing pretty good for a Starlin. But can’t write awesome cheers like another more creative son of yours can.

Happy Father’s Day! (Free bonus cheer.)

My Dad and Mom. Starlins are no strangers to donuts.

My Dad was a man of faith. Church played a big role in his life, and he was well-known and loved by his church family of 45 years. My faith and instincts tell me I will be seeing my Dad again. So, for now, I will simply say, “See you later, Dad.”

Happy Monday. Thanks for reading and responding. You make it fun.

Mark