Accept who you are. Unless you’re a serial killer. ~Ellen DeGeneres
With the recent posts of those passing away, I feel like my blog has become an obituary. I truly want to pay my respects and share stories to those who have passed, yet I need to find humor in the every day.
First, I must say, by writing this post I mean absolutely no disrespect. It’s just something I’ve notice, as did mom, and I wanted to share. I find dad funny and it’s how he is and that’s the way it is. I take no offense to dad’s ignorance, just plain humor in his cluelessness.
Most people have a tendency to omit details and not pay attention to others, and yet there are others with this wonderful talent for such details. I’m referring to specifics such as likes and dislikes with respect to food, their favorite color, their favorite music group or hobby and the list goes on and on. Even those are pretty big items most people are aware of with close family and friends. But what about the smaller, sometimes unknown finer points about a persons personality or habits? Usually they are commonplace with close family, right?
Dad has no trouble keeping tabs on deer season, turkey season or fishing season. Those are pretty standard times of the year, and I too can give a guess without looking up exact dates. However, dad has this unique talent for naming specifics when it comes to those activities. He can tell me what rifle I was using two years ago, what rifle shot what point deer and who made the shot. He can tell me what grain of power is in my shells, Kyles and his and what he used the previous year and how each one shot. He can name each location in four different counties where Ryan and him shot deer, my mom, my sister, Kyle and even me, for all the years we’ve been hunting! Seriously no joke! Our Hunting Adventures…New York, Our Hunting Adventures…New York Continued. He can do the same for small game and fishing. Actually, it’s pretty amazing. This talent has yet to slow down, he’s still that sharp.
This recollection also can be applied to dad’s fruit and nut trees. Dad can rattle of each of the fruit and nut trees in the back yard (about 25 different kinds) without missing a beat. He can also tell you when each one was planted and how each one produced year-over-year. He too can name the types of vegetables we planted in the garden every year since I was little. Pretty impressive!
It doesn’t stop there. He can name each location where he cleared out trees, worked in the woods or hauled lumber. Ingrained In the Wood Sometimes he can tell you what logs he chopped down and hauled out and where they went. We’re talking over the course of most of his life working in the woods since he was nine or ten!
I think it’s safe to say, that dad is still as sharp as a tack, at least with respect to his interests. Then there are those times when he is completely oblivious. Example, when I was in the junior high, mom took me to get my ears pierced with my second holes. I wasn’t allowed to get my ears pierced until I was in the fifth grade, but a few years later mom allowed me to get two more holes with the understanding that I stopped there. About three or four years later, after the holes healed up and become commonplace, we were sitting in the living-room and out of nowhere dad asked defensively, “When did you get your ears pierced again?” I actually sat in shock not truly remembering. He had NO idea! It’s not like I had long hair that covered my ears. It’s not like we didn’t mention we were heading to the mall and what we were doing. It’s not like there was a big conspiracy or secret kept from him regarding my ears. Nope, my ear jewelry was a widely known fact that somehow passed over his head.
Now let’s get to the silliness of this blog. When we were butchering the pig a few months ago, Bringing Home the Bacon…Literally dad stepped out and come back with lunch. (Sometimes I work out of my parent’s kitchen) Great! Much appreciated. What did he get me? He got me a Subway sandwich. Good! Meatball. Good! With lettuce? Not sure how to take that. Dad knows I love lettuce and salads, so in his mind he felt lettuce on top of the meatball hoagie was the way to my heart. Umm…. ok? Did I eat it? You bet! Did I mention this strange combination to dad? Never! Love the attempt, just a slight miss.
Then, a few weeks ago, dad came home with strawberry frozen yogurt milkshakes for me and mom. That was a nice surprise. Dad’s favorite flavor? Strawberry. Mom’s favorite flavor? Chocolate. Dad got her strawberry. My favorite flavor? Vanilla. Dad got me strawberry. Mom and I laughed while sucking down our strawberry milkshakes. After all these years, he truly has no clue.
Recently, I got a hankering for chocolate covered raisins. Not a favorite stable, but a nice treat every once-in-a-while. Dad noticed I was eating them because he asked me what I was shoveling in my face. Between chomps, I informed him, chocolate covered raisins, before polishing off the bag. Keep in mind, he heard me and I didn’t stammer my words or speak another language when I answered him. The next day or two, dad comes home with malted milk duds, which I absolutely hate. In this particular instance, I did mention my displeasure with those gross pieces of chocolate, only after popping one in my mouth thinking it was a chocolate covered raisin. To my surprise, it was not!
Me: “Oooo Dad, these are malted milk duds!”
Dad: “Ya, don’t you like those?”
Me: “No, I thought it was a chocolate covered raisin.”
Dad: “You scarfed them down the other day, I didn’t even get one.”
Me: “Those were chocolate covered raisins! I told you when you asked.”
Dad: “O, well I’m sure they will be gone by tomorrow.”
Me: “I don’t think so.”
They are still sitting in the same place with one missing. I can’t stomach those things! Even mom and Kyle turn their nose up to them.
Personally, I’m not a picky eater, truly I’m not. There are very few food items that I won’t eat. However, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to reiterate that I don’t eat peppers, no kind of peppers. Yet dad will bring it up, “Want some stuffed peppers?” or “Let’s get peppers on the pizza.” No thanks, I’m good!
Gotta love dad! He truly has no clue, but then again if he did, I wouldn’t have anything to write about. I know it’s the thought that counts, but he sure is funny!