Where Beer Flows Like Boxed Wine

It’s no wonder I don’t make any sense. I’m a combination of two polar opposites, who by all rights, should never have met much less married.   My mother came from a Nazi-strict household where she wasn’t allowed to see movies or go to football games, for fear she would encounter Satan himself. She also wasn’t allowed to celebrate Christmas which explains why we have presents piled from the floor to the ceiling every Dec. 24 and a Christmas tree in every room of the house – including bathrooms.  Except the bathrooms are small and the only space is above the toilet… and that can get prickly.

My father, on the other hand, had no parental guidance, unless you’re including alcoholics.  He took off when he was 18, with nothing but $60 bucks and a dream in his pocket. That dream, consisted entirely, of doing nothing.

For years, my hippie father hitchhiked across the country, attending approximately 4 different colleges and surviving on randomness and sheer luck.  For awhile he slept on a beach in Destin (no, no- not in a house, on the actual beach), working part time on a fishing boat – until he discovered he was very prone to seasickness.  Then he camped out in the Rocky mountains, where he was told it was perfectly fine to drink “the fresh spring water.”  But that person had been grossly mistaken.  So he headed out West.

Me: So, whippie-dad2here did you stay when you were traveling?

Dad: With whomever took us in.  One time I stayed at the Cadillac Motel for a buck twenty-five.

Me: Cadillac Motel? Was it decorated with car memorabilia or something?

Dad:  Not exactly.  It was an open field with a bunch of old Cadillacs up on cinder blocks.  With a mattress inside.

Eventually, he made his way out to San Francisco where his older brother awaited.  They thought it was a great idea to start a moving business called “We Merry Movers,” for which they had no insurance.

Dad: One time, we had this expensive leather couch and we were taking it down the stairs and it caught on something and sliced open the entire back.

Me:  So, what happened?

Dad: We set that side against the wall and started a different business.

my-momThen for a while, my dad went to school at Illinois State University, where he lived in a farmhouse with five other guys, out in the middle of a cornfield.

Me: So that house must have been crazy.

Dad:  All we did was drink until there wasn’t anything else to drink.  One of the guys worked at a liquor store and stole booze so he could resell it and pay the rent.  It was like a black hole. We were in the middle of nowhere and I couldn’t even save enough gas money to drive to the next town.

Me: That house must have been filthy.

Dad:  Yea, we cleaned our floor about once a year….   in beer.

Finally, my dad would make his way back home, where he played in a band and started to get his life together.   One snowy night, my mother, a shy and gorgeous woman, happened to be dragged out to a party where they were playing.

Me: So, how on earth did you meet someone like mom?

Dad:   We were at this party.  I was walking by the front door, when it opened and your mother tripped on a pile of snow and fell through.  I went to help her up and all I could think was, “This woman is hot.  I don’t know anything about her…but I’ll figure out a way to love her.”

Me: So …?

Dad: So as she was leaving, I ran out and wrote my number in the sleet on her windshield.  That probably wasn’t the best idea, considering her defrost was on.  A year later we got married on my birthday.  You know, that way I would always remember the date.

Needless to say, by my mother’s mesmerizing powers of persuasion and the grace of God, my father changed his ways.  And I couldn’t have custom built a better set of parents.  I adore them.

But that doesn’t mean I still can’t blame all my issues on you.

Love ya!

p.s sorry about stealing those pictures and broadcasting them on the internet.  you guys still don’t even know what a blog is right?  so we still cool, right?

56 thoughts on “Where Beer Flows Like Boxed Wine

  1. HYPERVENTALATES! We had that couch too! Oh golden flowers, when will you ever come back into style?

    I wish I could do a post like this about my parents, but after how they reacted last time, apparently I cannot make prescious family memories humorous. I’d probably get served with papers.

    Still though this was funny. And holy crapola do you look like your dad.

    • yea enna. i don’t know how it will go over if they ever actually read it. we’ll see. yea, i totally resembled my dad as a kid, but now i’m an even mix of the two of them but i have his body type and coloring for sure. you know “dark hair, flat chest.” okay, well that was a sandra bullock quote, but whatever.

  2. Love the pictures. The seventies were such a stylish time. Amazing how two seemingly opposite people can come together, get married, and not kill each other.
    I hope your parents got rid of the couch.

    • in their defense jen, they didn’t have that couch, it was my grandmas… but they DID have that horrible brown couch with like the picture of a house on it and the wooden arms? know what i’m talking about? the couch that it seems like every person my age’s parents owned.

  3. Well this explains a lot about you. Clumsy mother, hippie jobless father…

    My parents were kind of an odd match as well. My dad was 32, well, let’s just say he liked women. My mom was 20, never had a serious boyfriend (that I know of), and met my dad by chance at the bowling alley he ran through a mutual acquaintance. My dad even tried dumping my mom because she was “too nice of a girl for him”. I wonder if I can use that line sometime in the future when breaking up with someone… hm… (only skip the get married/have kids part and actually break up)

  4. and thats why we love ya!!!
    ps there is no way i can figure out how to bloody put that bloody friggin button of yours on my wordpress. stupid bloody wordpress i dont bloody knwo about HTML! i just wanted to copy and paste…. ok ill stop crying now…

    • oh dear susi. well if you really REALLY want to know, here’s what you do. you copy the HTML below my button. Go into your admin panel on wordpress. then go to widgets. on the left hand side it will have a list of ones you can add, select “text widget.” then it will pop up over on the right hand side, which represents your sidebar. select “save changes” right away. Then, click “edit” on the text widget you just added and copy the html from the botton. select okay and save changes. that should be it.

  5. Destin, Florida, on the oft-forgotten panhandle of the state, is affectionately regarded as the “Redneck Riviera.” That said, unless you’re in the greater Miami vicinity, I would freely apply that moniker to the entire state, coastal, inland, or otherwise.

    My mother’s cousin lived on a nude barnyard commune in upstate New York after being discharged from Vietnam.

    My uncle, bearded like Grizzly Adams, hunkered down in a trailer park in an area where he thought he could escape nuclear fallout from a Russian attack. And that was the early 1980’s!

    • you know, its funny mvd. now when we went down there for vacation – that place is like all built up. my dad had the opportunity to invest in some beachfront real estate that would have turned out to be a multi million dollar deal… but uh, i guess he had to much else to “do.” he slightly regrets that. hey now, britney spears even has a house there it can’t be that rednecky! haha

  6. Oh wow, that as too cool! I love how your parents are so different and yet get along so well! Cheers my dear, and keep ’em comin’ I do so love long posts, it’s a great way to learn about people 😀

  7. Hahaha – I love the photo’s… meanwhile I (too) like susi have no idea how to put that button ‘thingo’ of yours on my WordPress blog… “Help!!” I tried yesterday with susi on the phone and ended up having to leave work early because of the headache it created… don’t worry – shopping and Chinese (food) with Susi cured my frustrations!
    PS> I just saw your ‘how to’ response to Susi’s lamentations …. I will attempt over this long weekend we’re having in Aussie-land!

  8. That was a great little bit of insight on where you come from. Your dad’s a very interesting cat.

    That last photo looks like the live-action version of Hank’s parents. Hmmm….

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