The Brick

My father, Ken Jensen, was a lifelong Chicago Cubs fan. He was born in Evanston, Illinois. I can’t prove it but I’m fairly certain Chicago Dog mustard is a primary ingredient in nursing formulas for Illinois babies. After all, ketchup on a Chicago Dog is taboo.

While dad never lived to see the Cubs win the World Series, we’d watch the games religiously at my parent’s home in Cooper Landing. I promised myself that I would go to Wrigley Field with him one day. Alas, time passed and our time together ran out.

One day, in the early 1980s, I came across an advertisement that offered genuine bricks from the original Wrigley Field which was demolished in 1969. It looked like a perfect gift for my father. Excited to present dad with a one-of-a-kind gift, I sent a check for $150 to the sellers.

Weeks went by and eventually the red brick arrived in a small, nondescript cardboard box. It was heavy. It was unremarkable except for for what it represented.

I wrapped the brick in gift paper and, upon my next visit to the cabin, presented the package.

Dad’s expression as he unwrapped the gift was what anyone could expect when your son gives you a gritty landscaping brick without an advance explanation. The brick was, yes, just a brick. It did not have a plaque nor any defining inscription. There was no certificate of authenticity.

Realizing that giving a brick to someone might be construed as rude, I quickly told him about the brick and its alleged history. A small amount of satisfaction swept over his face and then mine.

Dad put the brick in his woodworking shop. It held places of honor as a door stop and paper weight among other things. Whenever I helped him in the shop, we’d joke about the possibility that two guys, sitting in a Chicago bar, were probably toasting each other for the clever way they sold their friend Bubba’s used landscaping bricks under the guise of being historic Wrigley Field brick pavers.

I still have that brick. It reminds me of my dad, the Cubs and many of our inside jokes. It's also proof that "It's the thought that counts."

—dj—

Copyright Protected by David Jensen

david@alaskaportraits.com