This is my 50th blog post. The fact I actually had the ability to create 50 posts is mind boggling. I can’t seem to count past three and have the creativity of a newborn with no butt crack in potty training.
I honestly didn’t even know what a Blog was until a few friends on FB encouraged me to do this. Thank you . This is honestly one of the best decisions I have ever made. I enjoy writing these posts. I even get more satisfaction from all of your feedback and comments. And the greatest pleasure, when you all see me in person and tell me you think the posts are hysterical and make your day. That is my motivation. I do this for you!
Either way we are here. Its a miracle. I desperately wanted to connect my 50th post with my parents 50th wedding anniversary. I have so much intertwining material on this it is literally leaking out of my earlobes and dripping into my belly button.
This perfect scenario wasn’t possible as the two love birds official date of 50 years of misery is a month away and there is just no way I could wait that long to write my next post. I am upset but I will survive.
I’ll do my best with what I have to work with.
I am 42 years old. I’ve known my parents for as long as I can remember. These memories consist of cigarettes and ashtrays. That is all. Well there is a bit more.
Discontinued Chevy Monte Carlo vehicles painted in a shade that was banned from all color charts in all car dealerships was a staple of my childhood as well. My Dad walked into the dealership with the negotiating skills of a Wooly Mammoth addicted to crystal meth. He worked his magic and they gave him a car which color looked like a ring worm infested mustard induced turd, free of charge. It was amazing!
That’s all fun and games and I’m glad he received a discount until he picked me up from High School Lacrosse practice in front of my friends as a 16 ft pile of diarrhea with no brakes rolled up. Thank god I scored four goals that game or I would have been in trouble.
Give him credit. He negotiated a good deal. He had the pleasure of raising five kids and dealt with my mom who can drive a Priest to drink Alabama slammers off a Hooters waitress on Good Friday!
Another stressful event in this mans life is the fact one of his sons was born a few shades darker than the average white child. Nothing wrong with it. Just looked weird in family pictures as my brother Joe was so dark he didn’t show up in Easter Day family polaroids. That is all. We all think to this day my Mom had an affair with the father of Hootie and the Blowfish. She denies these accusations.
My father has spent 50 years of his life sitting across a table with unstable legs staring at my Mother as they sipped Maxwell House coffee conversing about how many pounds of pasta she should make for the upcoming family Sunday dinner. My Mothers constant whining about the 16 whiskey sours my Dad pounded after their grandkids spring concerts has always been an ice breaker into conversation. Fortunately my Dad is deaf, blind and believes he is Dion from the Belmonts so he just ignores the ridicule.
In the end, they have been together for 50 years. 50 years. It’s a major accomplishment to stay together that long considering couples today separate because their significant others shoelace is untied or the cars front tire is low on air. If I have to engage with my wife for 50 minutes I want to submerge myself in a bathtub full of battery acid as I watch re-runs of Dora The Explorer.
I give my parents much credit. They got married young. They did the best they could.
My Dad really went out on a limb and splurged on their honeymoon. He booked a hotel in the luxurious Poconos, Pennsylvania. Thats fine. I have no problem with that. If I had to settle for PA on my honeymoon I would have made sure my wife and I had a threesome with an Amish woman at Applebee’s. Hershey park wasn’t around then.
No. My Dad dressed himself in white spandex and a pollo shirt fifteen sizes too small and rented two ten speed bicycles with flat tires and banana seats as they traveled in a 7 foot radious circle for a week staring at a rabid squirrel stocking up on acorns for the winter. This is not a joke. We have video evidence. Sad but true. My parents were adventurous.
I understood my Dads decision in all of this. He was socially awkward. His only claim to fame growing up was winning the superlative “Best Looking White Kid” in an “All Black” school in the Bronx. The man is scarred. He has a plaque to prove it.
My pops in his “Hay Day” was 114 pounds soaking wet. He inhaled three packs of Viceroys a day. He was a backup singer in a band with no instruments. He drove a homemade scooter. His chest hair was, and still is, that of a restored unwanted 1970’s shag carpet. He has an infatuation with Adolf Hitler. Sorry my Jewish friends. He doesn’t support Hitler but he is fascinated by the re runs on the history channel. When “Hitler” in color came out it was like he was watching the assassination of JFK live!
I could go on and on. He is my Dad. I love him. One of the kindest, softest, hairiest beings I know.
If I learned one thing from this man,it is to be kind hearted and don’t give a crap about anything. Live your life. So thank you Dad.
My Mother got off easy on this post. She will get hers don’t worry.
Happy 50 years Mom & Dad. I love you both.
What is something all of you have learned from your parents? Would love to hear.