(no subject)
My dad is bipolar, and most of the time, he's very even keel. I think part of that is his medication but also just his personality -- he's never been a very social person. He doesn't really do conversations. Unless he's manic. You can't shut him up those times, but the stories he chooses to tell are usually the dullest stories ever. Over Thanksgiving, he told the one about how he put the wrong registration sticker on his car -- turns out that is an epic tale that takes at least 20 minutes to tell, and 4-5 retellings for the sake of the oral tradition, of course. The thing is, Dad has a REALLY interesting past, and I really wish he'd be more interested in telling the good stories. Luckily, today was one of those rare days where not only was he feeling chatty, but he was cracking me up. Some things were stories, others just observations. I want to record them here so I remember them.
Dad has always been the real runner in the family, and he was giving me some advice from his experience. He reminisced that "the first time I ran the mile relay, I ran so hard that at the end of it, it felt like someone had shoved boards up my butt. I couldn't walk." What an image.
Mom mentioned that whenever Dad wants her to do something for him, he says "Killer says you have to..." Killer is his name for the cat we had. He lived to be 20 (we got him when he was 7), but he died over five years ago. When Mom called him on blaming the dead cat, he got philosophical: "Years ago, nobody believed the earth was round. Then people thought the earth was the center of the universe. Just because you don't BELIEVE I communicate with the dead cat doesn't mean it's not true."
Then he told a bunch of stories about fighting with his younger brother Kent as a kid. They were responsible for milking the family's cows every morning before dawn, but Kent didn't like getting up, and would often stick Dad with all the cows. One day, Dad decided he wasn't cool with that, so he forced Kent out of bed. Kent then proceeded to eat his breakfast as slowly as he could, until Dad lost it and started to take Kent's dishes away and make him go out to milk the cows. So Kent reached for a frying pan and whacked Dad over the head with it. Joke's on Kent, though, because he had to milk ALL the cows when Dad was in the hospital that day!
Next we were talking about babies. Some daughters would be offended by this story, but I found it really precious coming from my dad. Mom had mentioned how Adrian was her most painful birth experience, and then Dad countered that I was the worst. I was the only c-section, and also the only one Dad was present for (my brothers were born back in the days when dads hung out in the waiting room and smoked cigars). "It's disgusting! Everybody was puking and your mother's insides are showing...they say it's supposed to be this wonderful experience being in the delivery room, but I thought it was awful! And then you came out and you were all wet and gooey and they handed you to me! I was supposed to bond with you or something, but you were too gross. It didn't work." My mom took some offense at this, but I understood what he was saying. He likes me plenty now, but that first time he held me isn't his favorite memory. I'd probably feel the same way. Anyway, when Mom called him out on this statement, he defended himself by explaining that on the farm, he had to help deliver pigs and cows when they were born and it was all gross. "Are you comparing your own daughter to pigs and cows?!" Mom challenged. "Well, yes."
Maybe you have to know my dad to understand why these stories are so hilarious and precious to me. Even if it is a little insulting, whatever...I'm glad he's in a sharing mood.
Oh, also, he farted in my face while I was sitting down and he was standing next to me. Then he giggled like a little kid. It was honestly so adorable I couldn't even be mad.
Dad has always been the real runner in the family, and he was giving me some advice from his experience. He reminisced that "the first time I ran the mile relay, I ran so hard that at the end of it, it felt like someone had shoved boards up my butt. I couldn't walk." What an image.
Mom mentioned that whenever Dad wants her to do something for him, he says "Killer says you have to..." Killer is his name for the cat we had. He lived to be 20 (we got him when he was 7), but he died over five years ago. When Mom called him on blaming the dead cat, he got philosophical: "Years ago, nobody believed the earth was round. Then people thought the earth was the center of the universe. Just because you don't BELIEVE I communicate with the dead cat doesn't mean it's not true."
Then he told a bunch of stories about fighting with his younger brother Kent as a kid. They were responsible for milking the family's cows every morning before dawn, but Kent didn't like getting up, and would often stick Dad with all the cows. One day, Dad decided he wasn't cool with that, so he forced Kent out of bed. Kent then proceeded to eat his breakfast as slowly as he could, until Dad lost it and started to take Kent's dishes away and make him go out to milk the cows. So Kent reached for a frying pan and whacked Dad over the head with it. Joke's on Kent, though, because he had to milk ALL the cows when Dad was in the hospital that day!
Next we were talking about babies. Some daughters would be offended by this story, but I found it really precious coming from my dad. Mom had mentioned how Adrian was her most painful birth experience, and then Dad countered that I was the worst. I was the only c-section, and also the only one Dad was present for (my brothers were born back in the days when dads hung out in the waiting room and smoked cigars). "It's disgusting! Everybody was puking and your mother's insides are showing...they say it's supposed to be this wonderful experience being in the delivery room, but I thought it was awful! And then you came out and you were all wet and gooey and they handed you to me! I was supposed to bond with you or something, but you were too gross. It didn't work." My mom took some offense at this, but I understood what he was saying. He likes me plenty now, but that first time he held me isn't his favorite memory. I'd probably feel the same way. Anyway, when Mom called him out on this statement, he defended himself by explaining that on the farm, he had to help deliver pigs and cows when they were born and it was all gross. "Are you comparing your own daughter to pigs and cows?!" Mom challenged. "Well, yes."
Maybe you have to know my dad to understand why these stories are so hilarious and precious to me. Even if it is a little insulting, whatever...I'm glad he's in a sharing mood.
Oh, also, he farted in my face while I was sitting down and he was standing next to me. Then he giggled like a little kid. It was honestly so adorable I couldn't even be mad.