I even knew as a kid that he was different, but being a kid I thought he was a nutball. I was right, he is a nutball, but he's a damned cool nutball. When I was an adult and went out to where he grew up to attend college, I found out that his younger nieces and nephew looked up to him as somewhat of a hero because he always questioned things. He never went with the status quo, but always searched for his own answers.
He was part of a project in college that made a mock copy of the church magazine. The magazine was called The Banner, and they made "The bannaner." It was a brilliant peice of work that was a legend when I went to that same college, for having the balls to make fun of something sacred. I still remember an article about "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin," which was a perfect spoof of the many lofty articles the Banner is known for printing.
While this question has been debated for many years, by theologians better than I, the question should not be, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but rather, should angels dance? As every true Calvinist knows, the answer to this question is a firm, "No."I'm probably horribly misquoting the actual text, but the original spirit is there. It's something that's still talked about and laughed about. And admired for it's cleverness. This was written about 1946, and my dad was part of it. That's cool.
But, what he did today again proved to me he's infamously cool.
I've been drown in pity central today. Aw hell, I've been drown in it for the last couple days. "Oh woe is me, everyone please feel sorry for me!" you know the mood, right?
Well, I called Daddy, but he was out. (Actually, he's on vacation, but I totally spaced that.) So, I got on my computer and wrote him a long email explaining my woes and strifes and all my tribulations and poured my heart out to him. The biggest thing I moaned about was having to move furniture around our apartment to do some cleaning. "I bruised myself, I banged myself up, and for what? So I can do it again in a week? It's not fair, Daddy, I shouldn't have to work so hard, whaaaaa! Why is my life so darned hard?"
Then, I went out to dinner.
When I came home, there was a message on my answering machine. It was Daddy singing. (He has a very good voice)
Some people say a man is made out of mud
A poor man's made out of muscle and blood
Muscle and blood, skin and bones
A mind that's weak, but a back that's strong.
You load sixteen tons and what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt.
St. Peter don't you call me cause I can't go
I owe my heart to the company store!
I played it three times. And each time I laughed harder and harder. Todd does not understand why this cheered me up so much, but he's just glad it did. I don't know if anyone will get why that made me laugh and cheered me up, but it did. Right now, he's on vacation with my Mom, which means he found a way to check his email while he was gone then called me. Probably using a calling card at a payphone. That's a lot of bother to sing to your daughter.
But the message came through loud and clear. "I love you very much, my daughter. Now shut the fuck up and quit your bitching."
And Daddy knew I'd get it.
I feel very loved right now. Cause when you're in a bitchy, rotten, selfcentered pity loving mood and someone takes the time to call you and sing you a song to tell you you're being a jerk, that's true love. That's not parental obligation, that's true love.