There are few dads from my childhood that I remember better than Mr. Fuzak. He is scattered through many memories that flicker to my consciousness like flames dance across cut glass. Teresa Fuzak was one of my closest friends in my childhood. Memories of her are all through my life. Her parents lingered in the background, like many parents in the memories of children. 

In my mind, I see Teresa and I playing in my backyard, when we here Mr. Fuzak’s trademark whistle, signaling that it was dinner time. It seemed like we could hear that whistle no matter where we were. He may have called after Teresa, but in my memory, it was the whistle that cut through the space of childhood play. In another memory, I was running up the block towards the Fuzak house (all childhood houses were named by the owners’ last name). Teresa and I met on her driveway every day before Kindergarten, so we could walk across the street together to the Meadows School. At that time, St. Joan of Arc didn’t have a Kindergarten, so we went to the Meadows and switched to St. Joan for First Grade. One of the Fuzak parents (probably Mrs. Fuzak, but time has warped the fuzzy memory), would wave out the storm door, careful to keep Ralph, the Fuzak German shepherd, in the house. 

Another memory, I was in the Fuzak kitchen on a weekend morning. On this glorious morning, I was introduced to bagels. I could not believe such deliciousness could be contained in a donut shaped, chewy bread-like substance. I remember Teresa’s parents chuckling at my wonder. For most of my childhood, I would only have bagels at the Fuzak house. My mom rarely indulged in food that wasn’t on her list. We weren’t deprived, but she was on a tight budget, and bagels would just get eaten too fast. In a similar fashion, Fuzak’s introduced me to fresh ground peanut butter. I was raised on tubs of Skippy, so this was interesting… peanut butter that needed to be stirred, and had that grit of being freshly ground. I still only buy natural peanut butter. My kids probably discovered Jiff or Skippy in the way that I discovered fresh peanut butter. 

Through these memories, Mr. Fuzak is in the background, with a hearty chuckle and a warm smile. The strangest of my memories with the Fuzaks is of going on vacation with them. Those that grew up with the Weizeoricks knew that the Weizeoricks did NOT sleep over at anyone’s house. With rare exception, we tucked in at our own house, where my mom could do a headcount. Going on vacation with another family was unheard of. But I know it happened. I was with Mr. and Mrs Fuzak and Teresa driving to Florida to Teresa’s grandparents over spring break. Her grandparents had a POOL in their backyard. With certainty, I remember how annoyingly high energy I was, wanting to be in that pool all day, everyday. I also remember that we had to find our Easter baskets. I was unfamiliar with this tradition. With so many siblings, our Easter baskets were on the dining room table. But we Weizeoricks did hide the hard-boiled eggs, which in retrospect, seems like a questionable practice. That year, I found my Easter basket… in Florida… before jumping in the pool. While I am certain that they may have felt overwhelmed with me on that trip, Mr. and Mrs Fuzak never let on. While I cannot recall the origins of the nickname, Mr. Fuzak started calling Teresa and me his “Gulls” on that trip. That nickname stuck for many years. Even as Teresa and I started finding different friend groups, since we went to different high schools, Mr. Fuzak would still call me one of his “Gulls” whenever I was at their house, trying to keep a tenuous hold on a friendship that defined my childhood. Teresa, Julie Bremner, and I were the three musketeers for a number of years in our youth. They were the first friends that showed me that friends can still stay friends even if we don’t see each other that often. Those long-term friends, whose childhood phone numbers I can still recite, live on. 

Last week, Mr. Fuzak passed away. He will long stay alive in my mind, younger, dancing a little in the kitchen with Mrs. Fuzak. I didn’t realize that people could just dance at any time, in their home. My parents were great dancers, but kept it limited to parties. Dancing is a lifelong take away for me. Travis and I always dance in our house. So do our kids. So thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Fuzak, for that. And thanks for the warmth and love that you gave to me throughout my youth. So Friday, I will give my condolences to a family that hummed in the background of my childhood, and say goodbye to a man that was quick with a joke and a smile. Thanks for the memories, Mr. Fuzak.