So I'm a gonna try to be a better blogger and like...um...write some stuff.
So what I was getting at in my earlier post is that humor can keep you well. If it doesn't seem to be working, take it up a notch and it will make you goofy enough that you don't give a shit.
My mother was wonderful. We were really good friends. She was my Yoda - my spiritual advisor who could take me from utter despair to seeing the light with just a few manipulative phrases.
My Dad was a truly unique person. No one else like him. As a child I didn't really appreciate him as much as I should have. I saw his approach to life as far too simple. My mother was as complicated I was, (am). I was considered to be gifted in art. She bought me french drawing papers and oil pastels. Dad would lovingly offer up a new box of crayons. I would scoff, turn on my heels and go on some diatribe about the disgustingly waxy nature of the common crayon. It breaks my heart now to imagine his feelings of dijection.
The irony is that I got my artistic talent from him; but he didn't have a mother who could afford to buy him oil pastels. His parents were imigrants (that's IMIGRANTS - LEGAL ONES!) He attended some school function with his mother and they went to view the winners of the artistic achievement awards. One of his drawings was there! On closer examination, it was presented as being the work of another student. Some talentless kid kid took my Dad's drawing and entered it as his own and won a prize. His mother did nothing... She was afraid to make any waves in the country that she was grateful to be a part of. (What a SHARP contrast to the recent antics of the sewage that has rapantly leaked its way from Mexico to California. I am not refering to people as sewage but rather, to the notions of entitlement and of course the turds that fall directly from the generous bunghole of Presidente Fox)
Dad was a man with a tootsie roll center and as just as Mr. Owl pointed out, it only took three licks to get to it. His sweetness was nearly inhuman; Paraleled only by my cousin Melinda who is not a blood relative of my Dad but posesses this same "Alien" quality of having no malice. When he tried to get mad, one could see that it required a great deal of effort. His attempts at acting were as pathetic as Bob Saget's. I suppose Dad was trying to rely on some sense of corporate protocol when disciplining us kids. He became very formal in reprimanding us. Like it was all going into some recorded memorandum. (This essence of formality is so like my boy. I do, often acknowledge the POSSIBILTY that my son's autism comes from MY side of the family, but I get FAR more satisfaction from blaming it on his father's side and believe me, their gene pool is much more murky than ours!)
His efforts at being fearsome, alas did not incite fear, they produced laughter.
I will never forget the site of my father in the hallway with my brother, Chris. My bother's room was at the end of this hall and Dad was sort of trying to back him into his "cage" with a chair in one hand and a yardstick in the other. Chris was on the floor, doubled over, laughing. When he finally composed himself enough to speak, he pointed at Dad and shouted to me and my sister "Look at him, he's a Lion Tamer!!!"
Well we all had to laugh.
Dad with his chair and yardstick, his kids laughing at him. It was enough to actually piss him off but instead he laughed too.
Born on August 4 1917. A LEO!
So I talked about Dad - this was NOT what I planned
Blogs have a mind of their own!
Duck and Cover!!