The Memory of My Dad


Dedicated to the memory of my dad, for his sharing with me past events that happened before I arrived on the scene. He had a computerized memory. 

Do have loads of appreciation to hand out. The bulk of course, goes to the readers that do not seem to mind reading my stuff, even though a lot of it is autobiographic. 

Many thanks go equally to the Davenport Times editor, Brad Stracener, for creating a name for this book, “Kik-backs,” and the sharp titles he gave the articles and stories. 

Terri Roloff-Warrington, Wilbur Register’s editor, for printing my stuff, and her encouragement, regardless of what I wrote. 

“Zebra Dog Charlie,” Wilbur’s newspaper man, for taking over the publishing of these journals. 

Sugar, for being my dictionary, and showing me which there and their to use. Also for making me happy all these years. 

In my spare time, it was enjoyable to write things as accurately as possible. It refreshed a lot of memories. 

Dedication to Kik-Backs (home)     (thread)

Walt Kik
Teapot Gas Station, Zillah, Yakima Valley, Washington State

Walt Kik

A memory of my father, Kenneth Krogh, written September 1, 2018

This might be my first memory: I am laying on my back underneath the bleachers in a gymnasium. I see patterns of light between the benches and the legs of spectators watching a basketball game. A high school boy bends over me and picks me up. (My memory ends here.) While I was laying there my father was eight feet above me looking around and asking “Where’d Philip go?” Then he sees me and sends one of his students down to fetch me. I had fallen down between the bleachers when no one was watching.

My father was born 100 years ago today.

I like the fact that Ken was not afraid to tell this story even though he was the one who was supposed to be watching me; in fact, he thought it was funny. It may say something about him, but not as much as other stories I could tell, such as, how thrifty he was - he never had a home or car loan, he always paid cash; or how he loved to tease us in a good-natured way; or how he truly enjoyed spending time with his in-laws. How many husbands can say that? I could tell stories about hunting and fishing with him and how he didn’t let his polio keep him from being active and doing things he loved.

As I try to remember and honor him today, stories about his character seem small compared to that one thing we all want from our fathers. He let me know - in his own way - that he was proud of me.