I called my dad today to wish him a Happy Father's Day. Now, I've written about my dad before on this blog -- some of it positive, some of it negative -- and all of it the truth. I usually don't have everyday-type of chit-chats with my dad, and I usually only see him occasionally, when I end up at my parents house for some random reason, or when I go "up north" (a favorite summer pastime of Michiganders...if you're not familiar, it basically means heading somewhere north of where you live, and usually means a "cottage" on one of the Great Lakes) to my parents cottage.
When I called today, I felt a little like chatting. Over Memorial Day weekend, when Daughter and I went up north and spent an overnight, my dad and I were outside talking. He's a smoker and is not allowed to smoke in the house. While we were outside gossiping about the latest stupid thing my brother has done, my dad sneeks in a "I'm glad you're here, Dog" to me. We call each other "Dog" in kind of a Randy-Jackson-American-Idol way, but I gave him that nickname when I was a senior in high school 20 years ago...so i can't be accused of stealing it from Mr. Jackson. Anyway, I was really touched when my dad said it. I mean, I know he loves me but we're not close like we used to be. And despite anything he's done in the past, he's still my dad.
Today, I wanted to chat a little because yesterday, I went to the VFW hall that my grandpa belonged to (and where I spent a lot of time when I was a kid). My dad is a Vietnam veteran, and husband had asked yesterday what VFW that my dad belonged to -- I didn't know. I also found out yesterday that I could join the VFW that my grandpa was a member of -- I didn't know this either, and frankly, while I'm not all that into doing a bunch of activities at the VFW, it is one organization I would give gobs and gobs of money to if I could. So joining it and paying the membership dues is nothing I have a problem with, and I also would do it as a sort of tribute to my grandpa. While we were at the VFW, Husband also asked about the 21-gun salute my grandpa had at his graveside. Who performs this service? Again, I had no idea.
I figured my dad would know about this. During our conversation, I found out he was a member of a VFW post in Toledo, OH -- the same one his dad was a member of. His father was a POW during WWII, captured by the Germans and spent 2 years in a prison camp. His dad passed away probably around 18 years ago, in some military hospital. His dad was sort of insane (literally) and I was exposed to his nutty behavior when I was around 13 years old, when his dad came to live with us for a little while. I mean, he never did anything too weird (like in some creepy child predator sort of way), but he would just say off-the-wall shit sometimes, and once he was in the middle of our street in his pajamas with his arms spread like Jesus on the cross, shouting some crazy shit or something (this I did not actually see with my own eyes, only heard about when my mom was all "you need to get your crazy father out of our house before he does something really crazy".
I also found out that you just call you local VFW or American Legion and tell them you want a 21-gun salute at a veteran's funeral, and they send 7-10 guys and there you go. I didn't realize it was so easy -- I thought it was some super-secret government thing. Apparently not. My dad says something about having a 21-gun salute at his funeral, and I tell him that I'll make sure there is one because I have a feeling my mom isn't going to go that extra mile when he croaks. I know it sounds fucked up -- but just being honest, here.
So after chatting a bit, I wished my dad a Happy Father's Day and we told each other we loved each other. It was nice.
I'd also like to wish my grandpa a Happy Father's Day...even though he's been long gone. He's always in my thoughts and was the first father I ever knew. He was a dad to me because my biological father was a shithead and never stepped up to the plate. He was a dad to me before my current dad adopted me when he married my mom. He was the dad who bought me my first bicycle and taught me how to ride it. And he was the best dad ever.
I'd also like to wish a Happy Father's Day to Husband, being the father of my awesome kid. Without him, I would not have the person in this world I love the most.
Here's to hoping all of the fathers out there had a good day too. And may all the girls out there who need a father in their life, find one. Whether it be your grandpa, your mom's new husband, or another man in your life.
Showing posts with label My Dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Dad. Show all posts
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Old School Fridays
I was driving to work last Friday, listening to my Sirius radio. As you may or may not know, I have a long commute to work now (it's about 50 miles one way) and so I am extremely thankful for my satellite radio.
I usually listen to Howard Stern, but Fridays is is "Best of the Week" show, and of course, the rebroadcast of something I already heard during the week will most likely happen during my morning commute. And if it's not anything that I found particularly funny, I go find entertainment elsewhere.
As I've mentioned before in this blog, I sometimes listen to Sirius' station, OutQ, which is a station dedicated to the LGBT community. Most of the shows on the station are extremely entertaining to me. Their morning show is one of those that I enjoy frequently. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed, however, that the format of the morning show was different. It’s now called “The Morning Jolt” and the host is still the host (Larry Flick), and his sidekick is still there (Keith Price) -- but the bi-sexual woman was gone (Cynthia) and they were playing music between their morning banter, instead of just having a morning talk show.
I couldn't decide whether I loved this new format...because one one hand, there is the stereotype of how gays are on the forefront of all the new, fun, club music (which I am a fan of) but then on the other hand, I loved the talk format so much, I didn't want to listen to music. I wanted to hear what Larry, Keith and Cynthia were chatting about -- and where in the hell did Cynthia go anyway???
My opinion changed this past Friday, when Larry announced it was Old School Friday, then played "La Freak" by Chic. Holy shit! I haven't heard that song in a million years...or at least it felt like a million years. It reminded me of my childhood and where a lot of my love of music came from....
I was born in 1971. My parents met when I was 4 years old, and they got married when I was 8. I spent much of my childhood (the years up until I was 8) moving around, either living with my mom or my grandpa. It was never stable, and constantly changing. (And Pete wonders why I find discomfort in being spontaneous – another story for another time, but you can understand, right?) During the time I lived/spent with my mom, some interesting music memories have stuck out. One was she took me to see an Elton John concert when I was 3 or 4 years old -- I don't remember much from it other than the crazy costumes that he wore and it being really dark except for the spotlight on Elton. Another was when she was driving me to daycare one morning (so again, I’m guessing I was probably about 3 or 4) we were in her Pinto listening to “Cat’s in the Cradle” by Harry Chapin. In case you don’t remember it, it’s the song that goes “Cats in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon…when you coming home dad, I don’t know when, but we’ll be together then, dad, I know we’ll be together then.” Nice little diddy about being abandoned by your father. I find that memory particularly interesting, considering my biological father (whom I like to refer to as The Sperm Donor) never wanted anything to do with me and basically abandoned my mother and I. (Does anyone wonder why I am so nutty??) Anyway, back to the music memories…
I remember looking through my mother’s album collection, and here’s a sampling of the kind of music she was into: Led Zepplin, Elton John (of course), Jethro Tull, The Beatles, and of course, Barry Manilow. Looking back, I find browsing her record collection to be particularly interesting, because she doesn’t strike me as the type of girl who would rock out to a little Led Zepplin, but apparently, she did. Actually, she’s not all that into music, nor has she ever been. I don’t ever remember her just putting on a record and enjoying it. Ever. My awesome musical memories are thanks to my dad.
Now you all have heard me gripe about my dad. Yes, he’s a shithead sometimes, but he’s still my dad. When he married my mom, he took the steps to adopt me and The Sperm Donor was gracious enough to give up his parental rights so my dad could assume his. I always found this admirable, because after all, I’m not really his kid – you know what I mean. But he always treated me like I was, and more importantly, went to court to rewrite history. And no matter how mad he makes me, or how disappointed I get with him and his irresponsible behavior, I will never forget that he came along and became my dad (albeit a dysfunctional one), but hey. It could have been worse! I digress….
My dad grew up in Highland Park and his high school was racially mixed. Looking through my dad’s album collection, I found records by The Jackson 5, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, The Four Tops, Stevie Wonder – lots and lots of Motown. In the later 1970s, he played a lot of Earth, Wind and Fire, The Commodores, Donna Summer, Rick James, Michael Jackson (when he was still normal)…I could go on and on. Of course, there was also a lot of disco being played – you couldn’t escape the Bee Gees. One of my favorite memories is of my dad playing “Superfreak” when it came out. He would play it loud (a good stereo was always very important to my dad) and he would play it over and over. I also have the same memories of Donna Summer’s “Bad Girls”. Not exactly the most appropriate music for an elementary-school aged child, but it’s not like I knew what they were talking about and the music was funky and enjoyable. Even today, my dad likes to listen to music loud – especially in the car. He’s one of those people. I looked through his CD collection once a couple of years ago just to see if there was anything “good”. Along with Earth, Wind and Fire (one of my favorites too) was Madonna, Prince and Ricky Martin (the good Ricky Martin CD with “Livin La Vida Loca” on it and not the one that came after that one). I can’t scoff at those artists.
Which brings me back to last Friday and The Morning Jolt. When I heard “La Freak” -- I could see my dad, dancing his heart out in the living room. Even though he doesn’t look like Sherman Helmsley, my dad always kind of reminded me of George Jefferson from “The Jeffersons”. Maybe it’s because he sort of moves like George did, maybe it’s because he is balding like George, or maybe it’s because I swear deep inside my dad, there beats the heart of a black man. Or at least there used to be, until he became a Republican. :) The Morning Jolt reminded me how much joy I get from music and I have my dad to thank for exposing me to a lot of R&B, soul and funk music growing up.
I can’t wait for this Friday to come along, so I can tune into another installment of “Old School Fridays” with Larry and Keith. It’s fun to remember this music and experience it with a couple of middle-aged queens (and I’m not being derogatory here, because trust me, they’ve referred to each other as queens) who have a true appreciation for the music and the fun it brings. And you’ll know it’s me when I’m tuning in – I’ll be the one with the volume turned up and singing my heart out, just like dad did in our living room when I was a kid …”Awwww… Freak OUT…La Freak, so chic…Freak Out!....” HELLYES!
I usually listen to Howard Stern, but Fridays is is "Best of the Week" show, and of course, the rebroadcast of something I already heard during the week will most likely happen during my morning commute. And if it's not anything that I found particularly funny, I go find entertainment elsewhere.
As I've mentioned before in this blog, I sometimes listen to Sirius' station, OutQ, which is a station dedicated to the LGBT community. Most of the shows on the station are extremely entertaining to me. Their morning show is one of those that I enjoy frequently. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed, however, that the format of the morning show was different. It’s now called “The Morning Jolt” and the host is still the host (Larry Flick), and his sidekick is still there (Keith Price) -- but the bi-sexual woman was gone (Cynthia) and they were playing music between their morning banter, instead of just having a morning talk show.
I couldn't decide whether I loved this new format...because one one hand, there is the stereotype of how gays are on the forefront of all the new, fun, club music (which I am a fan of) but then on the other hand, I loved the talk format so much, I didn't want to listen to music. I wanted to hear what Larry, Keith and Cynthia were chatting about -- and where in the hell did Cynthia go anyway???
My opinion changed this past Friday, when Larry announced it was Old School Friday, then played "La Freak" by Chic. Holy shit! I haven't heard that song in a million years...or at least it felt like a million years. It reminded me of my childhood and where a lot of my love of music came from....
I was born in 1971. My parents met when I was 4 years old, and they got married when I was 8. I spent much of my childhood (the years up until I was 8) moving around, either living with my mom or my grandpa. It was never stable, and constantly changing. (And Pete wonders why I find discomfort in being spontaneous – another story for another time, but you can understand, right?) During the time I lived/spent with my mom, some interesting music memories have stuck out. One was she took me to see an Elton John concert when I was 3 or 4 years old -- I don't remember much from it other than the crazy costumes that he wore and it being really dark except for the spotlight on Elton. Another was when she was driving me to daycare one morning (so again, I’m guessing I was probably about 3 or 4) we were in her Pinto listening to “Cat’s in the Cradle” by Harry Chapin. In case you don’t remember it, it’s the song that goes “Cats in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon…when you coming home dad, I don’t know when, but we’ll be together then, dad, I know we’ll be together then.” Nice little diddy about being abandoned by your father. I find that memory particularly interesting, considering my biological father (whom I like to refer to as The Sperm Donor) never wanted anything to do with me and basically abandoned my mother and I. (Does anyone wonder why I am so nutty??) Anyway, back to the music memories…
I remember looking through my mother’s album collection, and here’s a sampling of the kind of music she was into: Led Zepplin, Elton John (of course), Jethro Tull, The Beatles, and of course, Barry Manilow. Looking back, I find browsing her record collection to be particularly interesting, because she doesn’t strike me as the type of girl who would rock out to a little Led Zepplin, but apparently, she did. Actually, she’s not all that into music, nor has she ever been. I don’t ever remember her just putting on a record and enjoying it. Ever. My awesome musical memories are thanks to my dad.
Now you all have heard me gripe about my dad. Yes, he’s a shithead sometimes, but he’s still my dad. When he married my mom, he took the steps to adopt me and The Sperm Donor was gracious enough to give up his parental rights so my dad could assume his. I always found this admirable, because after all, I’m not really his kid – you know what I mean. But he always treated me like I was, and more importantly, went to court to rewrite history. And no matter how mad he makes me, or how disappointed I get with him and his irresponsible behavior, I will never forget that he came along and became my dad (albeit a dysfunctional one), but hey. It could have been worse! I digress….
My dad grew up in Highland Park and his high school was racially mixed. Looking through my dad’s album collection, I found records by The Jackson 5, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, The Four Tops, Stevie Wonder – lots and lots of Motown. In the later 1970s, he played a lot of Earth, Wind and Fire, The Commodores, Donna Summer, Rick James, Michael Jackson (when he was still normal)…I could go on and on. Of course, there was also a lot of disco being played – you couldn’t escape the Bee Gees. One of my favorite memories is of my dad playing “Superfreak” when it came out. He would play it loud (a good stereo was always very important to my dad) and he would play it over and over. I also have the same memories of Donna Summer’s “Bad Girls”. Not exactly the most appropriate music for an elementary-school aged child, but it’s not like I knew what they were talking about and the music was funky and enjoyable. Even today, my dad likes to listen to music loud – especially in the car. He’s one of those people. I looked through his CD collection once a couple of years ago just to see if there was anything “good”. Along with Earth, Wind and Fire (one of my favorites too) was Madonna, Prince and Ricky Martin (the good Ricky Martin CD with “Livin La Vida Loca” on it and not the one that came after that one). I can’t scoff at those artists.
Which brings me back to last Friday and The Morning Jolt. When I heard “La Freak” -- I could see my dad, dancing his heart out in the living room. Even though he doesn’t look like Sherman Helmsley, my dad always kind of reminded me of George Jefferson from “The Jeffersons”. Maybe it’s because he sort of moves like George did, maybe it’s because he is balding like George, or maybe it’s because I swear deep inside my dad, there beats the heart of a black man. Or at least there used to be, until he became a Republican. :) The Morning Jolt reminded me how much joy I get from music and I have my dad to thank for exposing me to a lot of R&B, soul and funk music growing up.
I can’t wait for this Friday to come along, so I can tune into another installment of “Old School Fridays” with Larry and Keith. It’s fun to remember this music and experience it with a couple of middle-aged queens (and I’m not being derogatory here, because trust me, they’ve referred to each other as queens) who have a true appreciation for the music and the fun it brings. And you’ll know it’s me when I’m tuning in – I’ll be the one with the volume turned up and singing my heart out, just like dad did in our living room when I was a kid …”Awwww… Freak OUT…La Freak, so chic…Freak Out!....” HELLYES!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Christmas With the Munsters
Remember that blog post I made a few months ago, when I told you that Shannon compared my family and me to the Munsters and Marilyn? That I was the only "normal" one in the bunch (and that term was being used very lightly)?
Well, it seems my family came through again. I'll spare you all of the agonizing details -- but here's the story in a nutshell:
So we all know that my parents are two of the most dysfunctional people on the face of the planet (or at least, if you didn't know, you know now.) They have been married for 28 years, and I think somewhere in year 2, they started hating each other. I have never met 2 people who needed a divorce more. Anyway, my parents usually come over to my house for Christmas dinner. It's a "tradition" I started about 4 years ago, and it's gone relatively OK.
This year, my mom shows up with food in tow, but not my dad. She proceeds to tell me that they got into an argument that morning (Merry Christmas, everyone!) and that he is supposed to come later. Now, please picture the next couple of hours for me -- my mom continued to tell, and retell the story of the morning argument to me probably about 7 times. I am not exaggerating. She told me over and over. The amazing part in all of this is that I was surprised she expected, after all of these dysfunctional years, that he would somehow be a loving husband to her just because it was Christmas. But he wasn't. He acted like a dick. I should be surprised, why?
Well, long story short -- my dad pulled a no-show for Christmas dinner. Not that I minded. It would have been an evening filled with him dominating the conversation, spewing his particular brand of conservative-republicanism and/or Obama-bashing that I find distasteful, or him drinking a beer and my mom being all over his ass for it. OR both of them or either of them bitching at each other all evening. OR...any combination thereof. Take your pick. It would have been miserable, but we're FAMILY and that's what being a family is all about, right? We're supposed to be together, because one of us could be dead next year, or something. Not to be morbid, but for chrissake!
I don't get a phone call from my dad until the next day. I see his number on my caller ID and I let the machine pick it up, because frankly, I know that this phone call has the potential to last at least a half an hour, and with 99% of it with him doing all the talking = him bitching about how my mother mistreats him. And I wasn't in the mood for that nonsense.
I let the call go to the answering machine and he leaves his message, which I will paraphrase for your reading enjoyment: "It's Dad. Sorry I was not at Christmas, but Your Mother didn't want me to have a Merry Christmas so blah blah and more blah...." I stopped listening after that. Because it was not important to him that he missed Christmas with his family -- his non-fuck-up of a daughter and granddaughter. Oh no. It was only important that he made sure to tell me that it wasn't his fault he wasn't at Christmas dinner -- even though he is a grown man and could have driven himself over -- but that it was my mom's fault. Natch. I haven't called him back, nor do I really want to. I'll have to keep you posted.
I let the call go to the answering machine and he leaves his message, which I will paraphrase for your reading enjoyment: "It's Dad. Sorry I was not at Christmas, but Your Mother didn't want me to have a Merry Christmas so blah blah and more blah...." I stopped listening after that. Because it was not important to him that he missed Christmas with his family -- his non-fuck-up of a daughter and granddaughter. Oh no. It was only important that he made sure to tell me that it wasn't his fault he wasn't at Christmas dinner -- even though he is a grown man and could have driven himself over -- but that it was my mom's fault. Natch. I haven't called him back, nor do I really want to. I'll have to keep you posted.
The saddest thing of all was that he wasn't even missed. And his presents are still under my tree.
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