A Blog About Parents: “It Is What It Is”
Jun 29, 2009 Family, Out with the Old Wicked in with the New Wicked, Parenting, Thoughts and Perceptions, Wicked Wisdoms, love
My parents weren’t go-out-and-do-shit parents. Meaning, you know how there are those one parents where every weekend they had this hike or that museum planned to go and do? Yeah. My parents weren’t those parents. For most of my youth, we were poor so it was hard to do stuff.
Looking back I could say that I wished that they were those parents. But I don’t. Not really. We have never really been ‘that family’. We did go and do things. The things we did do were fun times. So I like the fact that what we did meant something… because I think that, from the outside looking in … many of those families are not happy ones behind closed doors. Generally speaking anyway.
(Yes I am aware that this is not all cases and that there are those truly happy 50’s white picket fence chocolate chip cookies when you got home from school families.)
When I was really little my dad drove truck so he was gone during the week a lot of the time. I remember missing him a great deal, and I think that him being gone is the main reason why I was drawn to him the way that I was. I would wait and wait to see or hear his semi truck pull up outside and run as fast as my little feet could move me across the gravel into his bear-arms.
I have always thought that my dad was the coolest dad on the planet.
I remember this one time when he came home, he wanted to take me and my mom out to dinner. As promised, we went to dinner in his truck. When we got there, he came around to get me out of the passenger side. I was so small then; the length of the step from the truck to the bottom step seemed a mile long. I blindly, and in an excited hurry grabbed the steam/exhaust pipe instead of the handle.
I can still feel the pain on the palm of my hand when I think about it to this day.
I screamed and cried as he rescued me and rushed me into the restaurant where I promptly placed my hand in a big glass of ice water. He sat right next to me and told me jokes to try and make me forget about the burn.
“How about I punch you in the other arm. You won’t feel your hand then.”
We used to wrestle.
He used to give me “Monkey Bumps” cause he thought that shit was funny.
He helped me with my math homework. I really suck at math.
He likes to sing. He has a pretty good voice.
He tried to get me to golf. I sucked.
My dad taught me how to drive.
He made me walk to the store when I got my period to buy tampons.
We fish. A lot less than I would like, but…
As I grew into into me, only a hormonal teenager, we began to beef on a daily basis. I don’t know where the rift began, but I know where it ended: When I moved out. He and I are so much alike that it is frightening. Our strong personalities under one roof with one of them being an authoritative figure was like mixing oil and water.
I pushed, he pushed harder. I yelled, he yelled louder. I slammed doors, he slammed harder. But when push came to shove, I knew that he loved me. Maybe that is why I pushed so hard. Maybe … that is why he pushed back that much harder.
Would I change it? Nah. I think that all of the tumultiousness that was our father daughter relationship made us that much more awesome today. He has put up with a great deal of shit with me and my wanting-to-do-it-the-hard-way every time.
When I enlisted in the Navy, and actually followed through with leaving for boot camp,and then tech school… and then a ship… I think that he realized that there was something within me that I actually took away from the things he used to preach to me as a kid. When I returned home, and saw him for the first time, wrapped in his bear-arms again, I truly felt like a little girl again and I remembered that I loved him. We just kinda fell into something pretty great from that moment.
But it wasn’t perfect. *I* wasn’t that great of a daughter all of the time.
I got married before D and didn’t tell my parents until afterward. My selfish ass didn’t consider that maybe my dad wanted to walk me down the isle.
I got my dad fired from Metro. (I didnt know at the time) He had bags of bus fare in his room to turn in, and I stole so.much.change. What I didn’t know, is that he almost faced criminal charges for it. (I later found this out after jokingly telling him that I was the one who stole the change)
The cops were called to my house several times. Because of my fight instigation.
I am pretty sure that I told my dad that I hated him angrily… one time too many.
Above all, my dad has always embraced me for me. He has expressed his thoughts as to who he thought that I should become, but understood (after some adjustment) and accepted who I chose to be and how I chose to live my life and conduct my business. I think that I can say that he is proud of me.
But most importantly, my dad is an honest man. He treats my mom with the utmost respect. My dad (thinks he) is funny. He lives life with an “it is what it is” motto. He isn’t perfect, but he always stands up for what is right and what he believes in. I may not like it at the time… but that doesn’t matter. I know when I call him and I ask him for his advice, he is gonna give it to me. No sugar coating. No bullshit. None of it.
And that is more than I can say for most people in the world.
What kind of relationship do you have with the dad in your life?
Have you ever done something that made your dad burst with pride?
What is the worst thing you ever did as a teen/kid and got busted for?
Tags: adolesence. mom, dad, daughter, father, fight, love, mom, mom and dad, Parenting, respect, teenager
TMI Thursday: Not My Crotch Crust!
Apr 29, 2009 Completely Hypothetical and Generally Specific, Family, Friendship, Parenting, Random, TMI Thursday's, Yum... or Lack There Of., bitch
Hello my gluttons for TMI Punishment!
You know the drill… I blog about totally inappropriate shit… (sometimes literally) and sometimes, you throw up in your mouth a bit.
If you are interested in participating, reading more train wreck worthy blogs… Click the pic below and enter the hub of TMI Thursday….
I have heard in several conversations in my life a phrase similar to “sometimes they need a little guidance on how to appropriately clean down there…” in reference to adolescent girls and their vag-area.
(yeah. I am going there yet again)
I always feel like I have a puzzled look on my face when this conversation comes about once in the big fat less than 5 times I have found myself in the exchange of it because I don’t ever remember my mom sitting me down and teaching me the ropes on how to properly clean my snatch.
Do you?
Anyway, on to the nasty of the nast.
When I was about 15-16 years old, I had the party house. One of my girlfriends at the time, we will call her Trina, had it out with her mom and ended up staying with us for (what ended up to be) a couple of months.
I knew that she didn’t have a lot, so whatever I had I shared with her. We went to the same school, worked at the same job and had most of the same friends so it worked out pretty well.
For the most part.
After a couple of weeks, I noticed that she had been wearing a lot of the same clothes. I offered to let her borrow stuff, and for the most part she accepted… even though our styles differed a bit. She also did not take care of her stuff as well as I did, so if she borrowed a shirt, I kind of didnt want it back from her. It ended up stained, over worn, and stretched out beyond recognition.
Call me a snobby bitch, but I dont think it is too much to ask to get something back the way it left my closet. Just saying.
Anyway one day after school, my mom calls me down to her bedroom.
Mom: (holding a monistat box and a pair of black jeans between 2 fingers in a disgusted manner.) “Hey baby… so I was grabbing stuff from out of your bathroom to make a full load of laundry and I stumbled upon these…”
Me: (pointing to the box) “What is that for?”
Mom: (pointing at the jeans) “It is to help you out with this!”
Me: (leaning forward) “To help me out with what?”
And then I saw it. *shudders*
On the inside crotch area of these jeans lived a kind of green crotch crust that cannot be described into words… and makes me wish today that I had premonitions and knew I would blog about this very moment so I could take a picture and visually torture the entire lot of you. It was thick and more than one shade of green… and this crunchy organism had cocooned itself within its green crotch-crusty nastiness.
I jumped back a little, swatting the infected jeans from my mom’s hands.
Me: “Those did NOT come from my bathroom!”
Mom: “Yes they did!”
Me: “Those are NOT MINE Mom!”
Mom: “Well if they aren’t yours…”
Mom: “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh…. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”
Me: “I cannot believe you thought those were mine!”
Mom: “Well?”
Me: “Well!”
So we … erm … disposed of these jeans in the proper hazmat manner. And left it at that.
If my memory serves me correctly… the jeans were replaced with non contaminated ones… and well, that nasty bitch had to go. I think my mom totally played the bad guy in the reason she needed to take her green vagina home for her mom to deal with.
Did she have the talk with Trina? The world may never know. All I know is I never ever mentioned that shit to her or anyone else really … well … not until now.
Heh. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast.
Does this spark any TMI’s for you?
Anything to add?
Do you remember being taught to wash….. or did it come naturally?
Tags: adolesence. mom, crotch, crust, friends, green, jeans, yeast infection
