Happy Birthday Papa Sauce!
Despite your crusty exterior, and the fact that you could talk the varnish off a table, you're a pretty swell guy. I know you'll deny it, and that's cool. Some days, I deny it too. (I mean, NOBODY should be singing Okie from Muskogee at 6 AM. NOBODY.)
We drive each other insane, mostly because we're so alike it's scary. Who do you think I learned to be so stubborn from? Comes in handy in the battle of wills. And as obnoxious as I get, you know I still stick up for you when Maa gets on your case (and vice versa). And I know that no matter how assy you're acting, if I told you someone was giving me a hard time, you'd be out there in an instant, nostrils flaring, and fingers twitching to snap a collarbone.
I like that.
We don't do that whole "hugging" thing, but *poke* *poke* Happy Birthday.
(And I realize I didn't do the big post like this for my mom, whose birthday was the 5th. So I present it belatedly here.
Maa, we're even more alike than Dad & I are. From making the same snarky comment at the same exact time, to the fact that you can still make me laugh, hard, for minutes at a time with the following exchange:
(man) "Why hey, you're a smart feller!"
(mom) "Better'n a fart smeller!"
And it's rather nice that you're omniscent. Except for the definition of "Mogul". Which I will not let you forget. Sixth grade, baby. Sixth grade. You're also better than any doctor at figuring out what's wrong with someone. And even though we share a dislike of actually going to the doctor's office, we'll force each other. And you know too, that if anyone tries to shaft you, I'll gladly go "attack dog" on them, and get you what you need. I still want to beat the crap out of your surgeon, and that's been 2 years now. I might still do it.
Thanks both of you for giving me your personalities, and your outlook. And even if things didn't turn out quite the way you had hoped, I hope I do still give you reason to be proud on a semi-regular basis. You do for me, that's for sure.
(Nope, that's just pollen in my eye.)
posted by Special Sauce @ 3:27 PM
4 Comments:
Ok, so now we know who to blame...
Scary ET synchronicity...at 8 am this morning, guess whose WinAmp kicked up "Okie from Muskogee"? And guess who danced and sang, and followed it up with The Story of Reuben Clamso?
And quite possibly the best story ever about Okie from Muskogee?
Once, when my parents were freshly married, sometime in in the early seventies, my mom and dad were tooling along in my mom's blue Mustang (the love for this car, it is genetic). Dad was driving, and the song "Okie from Muskogee" came on the radio.
Dad is so taken by the song, that he begins to do typically dad things, such as do hand gestures along with the song. He misses the curve, and wrecks mom's car.
They were both OK, but the car, not so much. To this day, mom makes fun of him, every time she hears Okie from Muskogee.
There's also a great story about a vacuum cleaner, and one trip to the supermarket, that I'll tell later...
You ought to give Papa Sauce the Kinky Friedman parody, Asshole from El Paso, if you haven't already thought of doing so.
Self. Bed. Now.
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