Recently my father tells my sister, “I think I’m gonna start writing a blog”. Oh, really? You probably don’t see what’s happening here because you didn’t grow up in my house. But underneath his innocent declaration is dig on me. That’s how he does shit. Sneaky. The thing is, I’m all for the idea of my dad writing a blog - my god, PLEASE, start writing a blog.
There are many reasons why my father’s blog would be pricelessly entertaining – a lot better than that fag on twitter who writes about “shit my dad says”. My dad would easily crush his dad in a heartbeat.
Here’s a typical conversation between my folks (they YELL a lot, mostly because they’re NEVER in the same room during a conversation):
“NADINE!” My dad yells from the kitchen.
“YES, CHAMP?” My mom is so damn patient it makes me sick to my stomach. And yes, that’s my father’s name.
“I’M MAKING SOME TOAST.” He makes it sound like he’s preparing a three-course meal.
“And?” See what I mean? By this point, I would have told him to stop acting like a caged gorilla.
“WHERE THE HELL IS THAT ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE IT HAIN’T BUTTER’?”
Hmm… Not only did he say the product name grammatically incorrect, he also said the grammatically incorrect word wrong.
Another thing he loves to do is instigate fights between family members even though most of us live approximately 3,000 miles apart…
“You talk to your brother and sister?” This is the 6th time he’s asked during our conversation.
“Yep. Yesterday.” I’m totally lying.
“Why’d your sister hang up on you?”
“She didn’t. I was joking.”
“You should be nice to your sister. She loves you more than anything in the world. Be careful, ain’t gonna happen, take it back.”
“Take what back?”
“Just say it.”
You’re probably wondering about the whole “be careful, ain’t gonna happen, take it back” nonsense.
You see my father honestly believes that if he has a bad thought it will happen, so he makes people repeat this phrase to eradicate any threat of apocalyptic doom. When he’s alone, he calls my mom to say it. Seriously, we’ll be out shopping and I hear her mumbling these words, that’s when I grab the phone and yell, “I’m NOT going to be careful. It IS going to happen. And I’m taking everything FORTH”. My sister came up with “take it forth”. God, I love that.
He blames the nuns at his Catholic school for his neurotic behavior, and says his crazy Italian-Catholic aunts made him superstitious. What he calls “superstitious”, I call Tourettes. That’s what it’s like… you’re sitting around minding your own business and out of nowhere he bursts out some shit like, “be careful, take it back, ain’t gonna happen, take it back” – while making the sign of the cross and spitting three times into the air. What the fuck’s with the number three, dad?
Then there’s his name… I suppose my father didn’t stand a chance with a name like “Champ” – that’s a lot to live up to, but he pulls it off and most people are in awe with him. You simply HAVE to hear what will come out of his mouth next.
“Simone, these ‘vagan’ cookies taste like cardboard horse shit.” I’ve been vegan for 4 years and he still can’t say it right.
“That’s because they’re DOG BISQUITS, dad.” Didn’t he read the clearly marked box before shoveling strangely shaped cookies into his mouth?
I keep trying to get him to move out to Los Angeles where it’s sunny and warm… and mostly because I’d have a continuous supply of material.
“Come on pop, don’t you want to move out to sunny California? We can write blogs together and eat ‘vagan’ food every day...”
“Oh, honey, I love you, but that hain’t gonna happen. I hate all of that beach shit.”
I’m begging you, dad, please start writing a blog – I’d be your number #1 fan.
Keep writing. It saves lives.