The Friars' Club Doesn't Have Shit on Me
My father turns sixty-years-old in three days. He has always usurped the entire month of August as his "birthday month," and in that proud tradition his surprise party was on the 9th. His ingrate children, however, were too busy to show up. Instead, we collaborated on a roast of my ole pappy, which was delivered in front of the entire party. My sister, Aja, sent me a fabulous outline. True to form, I waited until the night before the party to write the speech, and then I emailed it to my mother, who read it. I am told that it was a smash hit. Judge for yourself.
"A Speech from the Kids"
Among other things, Ralph Reed has always been a moral compass during troublesome times, and an inspiration to those who are lost. Most of all, his life to date has demonstrated how the power of religious faith can conquer intense homosexual desires.
What's that? You say that's the other Ralph Reed, the leader of the Christian Coalition? Oh well, we can still wish this old bastard, whoever he is, a very happy birthday. At least, all of you can. We, his children, have better things to do, so we just sent this speech.
We kid, of course, because our dad taught us everything we know... about the effects of alcohol on the human body. We learned that proper nutrition entails Bailey's in your morning coffee, a tequila sunrise for breakfast, a martini or two at lunch, wine for dinner, and bourbon for dessert. Dad was also adamant that we get a good education at the earliest possible age. That's why he taught Aja about gravity when he dropped her as a baby, while fumbling for his beer.
But it wasn't all work and no play for us growing up with Ralph for a father. After all, he puts the "fun" in functional alcoholic. And what's more fun than playing a little croquet in your daughter's high heels? Or what can beat catching a few rays in your above-ground pool with nothing but a book, a natty ice, and a Speedo purchased in Hillcrest?
Naturally our dad's birthday reminds us of the countless other holidays we spent together. He always had a knack for making those special days truly unforgettable. For instance, there was the Christmas eve when he told Sam's then fifteen-year-old girlfriend about his ole' Christmas stiffy. Just as memorable was the New Year's Day spent in Zion National Park, when he opened up a bottle of bubbly by rocketing the cork right into his daughter's temple. In all fairness, he could have stopped Aja from running away if he wasn't too busy laughing.
Cheap shots notwithstanding, our dad really did make the holidays special. It's always a challenge not to fall on the ground laughing at the Charlie Brown Christmas trees he miraculously fastens from branches ripped out of the pine in our front yard. Yet, they are always more endearing and magical than any store-bought, traditional tree ever could be.
And that's exactly why we love you so much, dad. Because you're not traditional in any sense of the word, and our lives are infinitely richer for it. It's normal to throw your son batting practice before a game, but it's a little off-kilter to give him some chin-music in order to demonstrate that you own the inside part of the plate. Also, many parents instill a love of sports into their children, but few do it through the world of gambling.
All joking aside, we can only hope to thank him enough for all that he provided us through the years. Saying happy birthday is only the beginning of paying him back for the many ways he shaped our lives, such as reading us Jonathan Livingston Seagull as a bedtime story, helping us with our homework despite tears of frustration, teaching us about the majesty and value of the great outdoors, and bringing home the bacon during our formative years. That is, until his wife emasculated him by consistently earning more than him over the last decade.
Dad's sixty years of exuberant life have been a lesson in doing what you have to do, while still having plenty of fun. He has cultivated his theory of "the balance scale of life," and he is a living example of its success. Hopefully his mantra leads to sixty more years, because so far, it's been a hell of a lot of fun.
We love you so much, Dad. Happy Birthday!
photo by Lydia Rhyne
"A Speech from the Kids"
Among other things, Ralph Reed has always been a moral compass during troublesome times, and an inspiration to those who are lost. Most of all, his life to date has demonstrated how the power of religious faith can conquer intense homosexual desires.
What's that? You say that's the other Ralph Reed, the leader of the Christian Coalition? Oh well, we can still wish this old bastard, whoever he is, a very happy birthday. At least, all of you can. We, his children, have better things to do, so we just sent this speech.
We kid, of course, because our dad taught us everything we know... about the effects of alcohol on the human body. We learned that proper nutrition entails Bailey's in your morning coffee, a tequila sunrise for breakfast, a martini or two at lunch, wine for dinner, and bourbon for dessert. Dad was also adamant that we get a good education at the earliest possible age. That's why he taught Aja about gravity when he dropped her as a baby, while fumbling for his beer.
But it wasn't all work and no play for us growing up with Ralph for a father. After all, he puts the "fun" in functional alcoholic. And what's more fun than playing a little croquet in your daughter's high heels? Or what can beat catching a few rays in your above-ground pool with nothing but a book, a natty ice, and a Speedo purchased in Hillcrest?
Naturally our dad's birthday reminds us of the countless other holidays we spent together. He always had a knack for making those special days truly unforgettable. For instance, there was the Christmas eve when he told Sam's then fifteen-year-old girlfriend about his ole' Christmas stiffy. Just as memorable was the New Year's Day spent in Zion National Park, when he opened up a bottle of bubbly by rocketing the cork right into his daughter's temple. In all fairness, he could have stopped Aja from running away if he wasn't too busy laughing.
Cheap shots notwithstanding, our dad really did make the holidays special. It's always a challenge not to fall on the ground laughing at the Charlie Brown Christmas trees he miraculously fastens from branches ripped out of the pine in our front yard. Yet, they are always more endearing and magical than any store-bought, traditional tree ever could be.
And that's exactly why we love you so much, dad. Because you're not traditional in any sense of the word, and our lives are infinitely richer for it. It's normal to throw your son batting practice before a game, but it's a little off-kilter to give him some chin-music in order to demonstrate that you own the inside part of the plate. Also, many parents instill a love of sports into their children, but few do it through the world of gambling.
All joking aside, we can only hope to thank him enough for all that he provided us through the years. Saying happy birthday is only the beginning of paying him back for the many ways he shaped our lives, such as reading us Jonathan Livingston Seagull as a bedtime story, helping us with our homework despite tears of frustration, teaching us about the majesty and value of the great outdoors, and bringing home the bacon during our formative years. That is, until his wife emasculated him by consistently earning more than him over the last decade.
Dad's sixty years of exuberant life have been a lesson in doing what you have to do, while still having plenty of fun. He has cultivated his theory of "the balance scale of life," and he is a living example of its success. Hopefully his mantra leads to sixty more years, because so far, it's been a hell of a lot of fun.
We love you so much, Dad. Happy Birthday!
photo by Lydia Rhyne