The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘dad’

Happy (Belated) Clone Creation Day!

This is one of my favorite stories about my dad. Here are a few other stories about the pops. Now for another fun pops story …

Happy Clone Creation Day!

In the 7th grade my dad and I made a habit of playing a baseball game on the Nintendo. If I had to guess, I would say that my mom told my dad that he and I needed to bond, and to think up something. My dad, brother and I had played a whole season (which is fairly impressive) on Ken Griffey, Jr. baseball back when I was in the 4th or 5th grade. The baseball idea had come around again, this time with an upgraded system – the 64.

We played as the Arizona Diamondbacks, which was the first or second year of the team’s existence. I have no recollection of how often we played, but I remember sitting in the basement with my dad, playing that game.

  • He never swung at the first pitch. Usually not the second or third, either. He was always wanting to wear out the starting pitcher. With the game’s AI, you could expect with about 99% confidence that after three pitches you’d have 2 strikes and one ball on you.
  • The first two pitches were usually strikes. During them, he would sip his beer.
  • After the second pitch (which was usually your second strike), he would pick up his controller.
  • If he got a hit, then he got a hit.
  • If he struck out or had a bad pop-up the same sound would generally escape him – an aggravated, quick, “agh!”

On one particular day, we were playing the game and my dad was up to bat. After the usual ritual, he struck out. The familiar grunt/sound of exasperation came.

I smirked. My dad is a funny guy. He’s like a monkey over there with those crazy grunt noises. I thought, ‘ok, my turn … I can do better.’ After all, I’m young and I play a lot of video games – this is what I’m built for. I waited out the strikes like my dad, not because I wanted to necessarily, but because it was a good strategy. It’s a video game! It’s not the place where you exhibit patience and strategy! Nevertheless, I did it (when he was around).

What do you know – I also get out.

And what do you know, the same, “agh!” came out of me.

Holy crap, I realized, I am my dad.

All the times I’d laughed at him, poked fun at him (just in my head, not out loud) … those would all be coming home to roost. Shoot.

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Happy Birthday to … Dad

October is a big birthday month in my family. I decided to do a little post for some of the birthday boys and girls I know.

I remember my dad telling this story – and I may not have it 100% right, but the gist will be right.

My dad went to the United States Military Academy and I don’t recall any of the correct acronyms for the positions he said. Whoops. There was a fella (not the correct title) who was a fancy pants (correct title) who was above my dad. I got the impression my dad was not a terribly big fan of this guy.

Nevertheless, my dad survived West Point and began his military career.

Years later my dad was at an event and this higher ranking officer was there.

When my dad went to shake the man’s hand the man said, “I remember you, a smartass with potential.”

My dad, naturally, replied, “nice to see you too, sir.”

Happy bday to the guy who gave me my smartass gene!

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Weekly Wacko (60)

Talk to Myself, Sing to Myself, Go Crazy All By Myself

I wrote before about my brilliant camping strategy – who needs a tent when you have a mini-van and a short body?

One morning, I’m not sure if my sister had also slept in the mini-van or not, but we were both in there. I took the middle section (fit for two people sitting – prior to the popularity of the ‘quad bucket seats’), and she took the far back (fit for three people sitting).

We woke up and saw that our dad was the only tent-sleeping person awake. He was getting the camping stove ready for a breakfast.

Since my dad was in the Army, M.R.E.’s were a staple food on our camping trips. An MRE is a “Military Readiness Meal” and it is a powerful punch of calories. High on calories, low on satisfied customers. Though I’m pretty sure I thought they were awesome (I even got some one time, thinking my then-girlfriend and I would have a picnic lunch of MRE’s … What can I say, I’m a romantic). For breakfast that day he was fixing up something different. It was a special day not for that reason though.

E$, my sister, and I noticed – who’s dad talking to? He’s definitely talking. Oh yeah, his mouth is moving and he’s jabbering like crazy.

But no one was there.

My dad, if the wheels are really turning, can’t help but mouth the words. He doesn’t say them out loud (not yet?, eh Mom?), but you can tell when he’s really thinking. I’m allowed to make fun of him for many reasons – but one of them is that I’m already starting to do this.

E$ and I had a blast sitting in the car, watching our dad talk his head off. To himself.

A special day, for a special man. ZING!

(Again, it’s only a matter of time before this is me.)

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