Introducing Dear Ol’ Dad
If you’ve stopped by recently, you may recall that Dear Ol’ Mom filed an official complaint … about my blog, and she has demanded that I spend as much time teasing my father in ‘09 as I did teasing her in ‘08. To be totally candid, my mom scares the pee out of me when she’s mad. She’s down right nasty and mean when she’s stewing on a perceived slight or transgression, so I have no choice but to be a good and obedient daughter. I hate it when she calls and uses my middle name … in her mom voice … in that voice … Tricia Lynn, and I instantly wish the telephone would mysteriously disconnect.
But before I start picking on Dad, I though the least I can do is provide an official introduction. So, Dear Readers, I’d like you to meet Doug. He’s the handsome one in the bow tie.
This seems like a good time to point out that this picture was taken during my sister’s wedding, which is the only time I’ve actually seen my dad in a tuxedo. You may be wondering why he wore a penguin suite to my sister’s wedding and not to mine? Well, yea, I’m wondering too. The only plausible answer is that my sister has her daddy completely wrapped around her cute little finger, but I digress. No hard feelings here, really. Some day I’ll tell you about when he told me he’d pay for my first wedding, but not the second, and he said it with a straight face before I was EVER even married!
Here he is again. Dad loves to dance and he’s been known to tear up the dance floor until his feet are literally bleeding. That’s me in the brown dress and my beautiful sister in her bridal glory. Dad was dancing with me but here she is honing in on my moment. My little sis is a goodie-two-shoes, but don’t tell her I said so, okay?
I have to admit that teasing my dad in such a public forum is a tad frightening. I’ll have to ease my way into this. Although my mom is down right bitchy when she’s mad, I can hang up on her. My dad … well, he doesn’t exactly get mad, he gets even. He’s the King of Revenge, plus he knows the Easter Bunny.
To muster the much-needed courage for such an undertaking, I took a few swigs of whiskey before sitting down to compose this post. Now that I’m all grown up older, at least I’m drinking my own booze. Not that I ever drank his or anything.
Dad: Really! I wasn’t the one who used to pour your moonshine whiskey on the kitchen counters and light it on fire. And it definetly wasn’t me who drank that nasty stuff. That was Amy and Laura, and they always did it when I wasn’t looking. I swear!! I was so busy doing my homework that I didn’t have time to raid your liquor cabinet or hide boys in my closet, in case you’re wondering.
Actually, I didn’t have to hide boys. My dad did a pretty good job of scaring the crap out of everyone I brought home for dinner, and they usually decided to hide themselves.
Dad had this one story he loved to tell. You see there was this pig, yes a pig, a really big pig, that for some reason, some how, offended my dad. What’s a young man with bare hands the size of porcupines supposed to do in the face of an ornery snouted animal? Apparently punch it. The pig died instantly. Every time my father told this story he’d clasp and unclasp his hand like he was looking for someone else to punch. I can’t even begin to tell you how much pleasure Dad had watching 16-year-old boys turn into whimpering idiots.
Now that we’ve completed formal introductions, I feel much better about turning my father into blog fodder.
Next, I’ll tell you how Dear Ole Dad permenantly cured me from ever wanting another Christmas tree in my house, and then I’ll tell you about the bottle of champagne from my wedding that he stashed away, why he kept it, and what he did with it. Maybe I’ll even tell you about the night he came home and kept trying to pull my mom’s pants down in the middle of the kitchen, while she was on the phone with her mother discussing tights and stockings. Oh and let’s not forget, I absolutely HAVE to tell you about the completely inappropriate songs he used to sing to me when I was a child.
This will be fun … dangerous, but fun.