DAD WAS A CARPENTER: BLUEPRINTS FOR A MEANINGFUL LIFE; by Kenny Kemp; Alta Films Press, 1999; 150 pages.
Billed as an inspirational memoir, this simplistic little book begins with a cliche: "I lied — Dad was not really a carpenter. He didn't work in the trades at all. He was a pharmacist — an ordinary man with poor eyesight, gapped teeth and no hearing in one ear; who struggled through high school, then flight school, then college, where Mom helped him with his trig homework."
Kemp intends to portray his dad, O.C. Kemp, as someone who built things as a hobby, but who also built lives in his duties as a parent, and who did so in a quiet, unassuming way. In pedestrian prose, the younger Kemp testifies that home was memorable to him for his mother's "warm and tasty butterflake rolls," even as he is reflecting on his father's death of Lou Gehrig's disease (ALS).
Kemp's dad spent considerable time tinkering in his garage, "building or fixing something." Dad the carpenter had "a two-year supply of cracked wheat and a chandelier that looked like a lunar landing module." The son remembers his father accompanying him on a 50-mile Scout hike that was arduous and notable for the almost total lack of conversation.
He remembers the family house burning down and his father devoting far too much film footage to the family opening Christmas presents. Even though his dad built a go-cart for him as a child, he has no memory of him encouraging him to drive it or ever watching him enjoy it.
When the son wrecked the family car, his dad read National Geographic instead of helping the boy rebuild it. When he asked his dad if he was kidding when he said he was not going to help him, his dad simply said, "Nope." It took Kenny two months to fix the car, with only a few suggestions from his dad, who never bothered to compliment him.
It was all part of the building process — the reason "Dad Was a Carpenter."
The day before Kenny turned 18, he moved out of the family home, wanting freedom and independence. One Sunday morning, he got an unexpected visit from his dad, who was wearing "his outdated, lumpy brown suit." There were beer cans and cigarette butts strewn around the apartment, but he invited his dad inside, then waited nervously for an angry lecture. He was prepared to hit back hard.
Instead, his dad looked around quietly and said nothing. Finally, Kenny angrily asked, "What do you want?" His dad, unperturbed, said simply, "I was just going to church and wondered if you wanted to come along."
"Sure," said the son. "Just give me a sec."
This tender incident was the key to HarperSanFrancisco's desire to publish this book in a printing of about 25,000 copies. Gideon Weil, Kemp's editor, told the Deseret News, "It's my favorite story in the book. That was a compassionate thing his father did. It is subtle and moving. That story epitomizes the whole book."
Well, maybe. For me, it isn't nearly enough.
Reading the book leaves me thinking Kemp was right initially, when he said he remembered his dad as "lackluster and ordinary." There is such a thing as being too subtle, and this book is so understated that "Dad" never comes alive.
E-mail: dennis@desnews.com