Well Dad, I’m just like you…happy now?

 

I saw something on the news the other day and it made me think that parents should really start doing a better job. So, I thought, perfect…this week’s blog topic done. I will rant about how parents are really phoning it in these days. But then I starting thinking things like, “you’re not a parent so perhaps you shut keep your stupid mouth shut”, and “your friends that are parents are going to hate you now, good luck with this”. This, in turn, led me to think about the job my own folks did raising me and the twins. Now, while it is true that the golden boys (the twins) had a bit more “hands-on” time with my parents, I turned okay…well, that’s still up for debate, but I’m a productive member of society who’s never been to rehab or jail…I could be doing worse. Now, before ya’ll start freaking out because I made a sarcastic comment about people who have been to jail and/or rehab…calm down…No one is asking for your social dissertation regarding stereotypes, I’m just telling a story. Anyway, I starting thinking about my parents and what they taught me. Not things like spelling and math, but what they REALLY taught me. Cause, they damn sure didn’t teach me math, because I suck at it. But, the things that matter, I’m fairly good at, and that is all in part to my folks.

Now, those that know me know that I have what I would call an “interesting” relationship with my mother. Clue number one: I call her mother. I love my mother, but when we talk to each other on the phone, my hubs mocks us in the background by making “faxing” noises, and making comments about “interfacing” and “exchanging data”. That is the kind of relationship we have. But, my dad, now that’s a different story all together.

I am, in a shocking turn of events, a complete “daddy’s girl”. I am the youngest and the only girl. It’s Family Psych 101…of course, I’m a “daddy’s girl”. As a child, my dad could do no wrong. He was my giant hero that EVERYONE loved, but not as much as me. He taught me more about life than any textbook or course would ever. He taught me the path to take in life. He showed me, by example, what qualities to look for in a husband one day. And in turn, I married a tiny version of my father that we often refer to as, “Morrison Bouillon”. So, as we approach Father’s Day, I thought I would share with ya’ll some of my favorite lessons good old Doc Doc taught me.

1. The perfect art of sarcasm. I learned my skills from the master. We have trained for years, and as a result, my brothers and I can slay dragons with our wit. Our sarcasm is legendary in our town, nay, state, and if there was an Olympic team for sarcasm, my dad would be the captain. As a child, I listened in awe of the dryness in his delivery. Other fathers were good at playing catch and hunting and camping. Not my dad, he’s terrible at all of those things, but what he’s great at is sarcasm. Quick witted and little got past him. My favorite thing wasn’t what he said, but how he would say it. Deadpan, expressionless. Hilarious. One of my favorite examples of his is when my brother once said something along the lines of, “if something ever happens to mom…” and my dad just kept staring straight ahead, expressionless, and said, “son, don’t you know evil never dies”. Come on…now, that’s comedy. Even as little ones, we were never spared. If we asked for something ridiculous, he would say, “people in hell want ice water”, which is something I say, probably, 700 times a week. If we asked him if he wanted to go to the Dairy Bar for lunch, he would respond, “does the pope wear a funny hat?” And he just deadpanned everything, so it just made it that much funnier. I hear him come out of my mouth at least 100 times a day. His timing, his cadence, his delivery…brilliant.
2. A sense of adventure. My dad loved to travel, and in turn, he dragged us all over the place. I love museums because of him. I love art because of him. I love England because of him. I love Holland because of him. I do not like orange marmalade or blood pudding because of him, but I digress. Dad knew that the education gained while traveling was better than any classroom history lesson. Instead of learning in history class that the Rose Windows in Notre Dame where buried during WWII to save them, I learned that story while taking a tour of Notre Dame. That’s pretty bad ass, just sayin. Even if that meant, occasionally driving the wrong way down a double-decker bus lane in our over-sized rental van and then getting that same van stuck in a parking structure. Even if that meant inadvertently letting your daughter jump into an unheated pool in Scotland…in March. Even if, on that same trip, Dad randomly chose a name in the phone book matching ours, and made me knock on their door so they could meet their American relatives they never knew (or cared) they had. I’ve tried blood pudding and yeast paste in Great Britton because of him. I’ve seen the Mona Lisa because of him (slightly disappointing to be honest-not the work of art, the way it’s displayed). I’ve been forced to run around the Alps spinning and signing “The Hills Are Alive” with the golden boys for my parent’s amusement. The golden boys and I have run down the same beach where “Chariots of Fire” was filmed. I’ve seen Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and been to the Cowboy Hall of Fame. I’ve made art with a painter in Holland, and eaten so much orange marmalade that I’m good…for the rest of my life.
3. A love of food and cooking. Now, I realize that most of ya’ll grew up in a household where the mom cooked. I get it. That’s traditional. That is not ho w we grew up. My mother could cook the following: homemade brownies, London broil, and…well, that’s about it. My dad, on the other hand, would drive to Columbia to go to the Asian markets to buy egg roll wrappers, dried mushrooms, spices and other stuff you couldn’t get at the Winn-Dixie. He would lay the ingredients out on the butcher’s block and we would get to choose what we wanted in them, he would wrap them up and drop them in the fryer. Yummo. He was a foodie before that was even a thing.
4. A duty to serve the public. I grew up in a small town where, for a while, Dad was the only pediatrician in town. It was not uncommon for someone to ring our door bell in the middle of the night with a sick baby. He made house-calls and sometimes took food or services as payment for those who either couldn’t afford it, or as in most cases, had really good food! I couldn’t wait until he was on-call on the weekends, so that I go to the hospital and make rounds with him.   As an adult, I look back and think how I never knew that it was a pain in his ass to get up early on a Saturday morning and drive 30 minutes to the next town over, where the hospitals were, and see patients. I took away his love for helping people in a time of crisis…dammitt.
5. Not being a wuss. Our heads would have to be practically severed for my dad to be remotely concerned about us. You had to be plague sick to get to stay home from school and forget about faking it. I distinctly remember my dad telling me that salt water was “good” for wounds, and no worries about that rusty nail you just accidently stabbed yourself with…you’ll be fine. And guess what, I was, and I still am…proud to report, I haven’t bled to death yet.
6. A love of sci-fi.
7. The patience of a saint. My dad has this habit of pressing the “imaginary brake” when he is a passenger in your car. I’m sure many of ya’ll are familiar with this concept. The one where the passenger grabs the “oh-shit” handle and attempts to subtly press the imaginary brake that resides in the passenger floorboard. Well, Dad does that. All. The. Time. Every. Time. He can’t help himself. When we make the four plus hour drive from the lowcountry to the upstate for football games, it takes the patience of a seasoned monk to not punch him in the face. I have thought twice since turning 15 about putting him out on the side of the road. But, instead, of leaving him to hobble up the side of 26 on his bad hip, I have developed patience that would later in life help me work with the mentally ill…go figure.
8. The ability to not get grossed out. My dad and I will sit around the dinner table and talk about someone’s guts literally hanging out of their backside. For as long as I can remember I have listened to Dad talk about the crazy stuff he saw at work over supper, much to the golden boys and mother’s chagrin. None of them have the stomach for it. But not me, I was fascinated by Dad’s ability to separate the horrors and sadness that can come along with a job like his, and turn it into a clinical learning experience. It’s gross and nerdy all at the same time!
9. The art of doing nothing. My dad an do nothing like a Nascar driver can hug a turn. He’s a master at it. Call him up on a Saturday afternoon and ask him what he is doing. His response, “nuthin”. “I know Dad, but what are you really doing?” “Nuthin, I’m sitting here in my chair, doing nuthin”. “Dad, you’re not watching TV or reading or doing a Suduko puzzle?” “No, I’m doing nuthin”. Try it sometime…doing nothing is glorious! I really didn’t appreciate it as a kid. As an adult, please, ask yourself when the last time you were bored…um, never! What we used to call boredom, as an adult, we call relaxing. AKA, doing “nothing”.
10. The art of not taking yourself to seriously. Come on folks, we are only here for a brief period in time. Please try and not take yourself too seriously. Life is too short. If you want to go out an buy a convertible that makes you look like you are a Shriner because you are tall and the car is small, then Dad, you totally should. And when you have to fold yourself in half to cram yourself in that tiny car to cruise around…you go for it old man! Wear your Tiger Town Tavern “1 Just turned 21” T-shirt with pride, even though, we are all fairly sure that the printing press hadn’t been invented when you turned 21 so there is no way there was a shirt to commemorate it. The point is…Dad still acts like a kid, and it’s really fun to watch! I don’t ever want to grow up either Dad.

So, as Father’s Day draws near, if your dad is still with you, or not, take a minute to think about all you have to thank that big goofball for. After all, you act just like him!

I saw something on the news the other day and it made me think that parents should really start doing a better job. So, I thought, perfect…this week’s blog topic done. I will rant about how parents are really phoning it in these days. But then I starting thinking things like, “you’re not a parent so perhaps you shut keep your stupid mouth shut”, and “your friends that are parents are going to hate you now, good luck with this”. This, in turn, led me to think about the job my own folks did raising me and the twins. Now, while it is true that the golden boys (the twins) had a bit more “hands-on” time with my parents, I turned okay…well, that’s still up for debate, but I’m a productive member of society who’s never been to rehab or jail…I could be doing worse. Now, before ya’ll start freaking out because I made a sarcastic comment about people who have been to jail and/or rehab…calm down…No one is asking for your social dissertation regarding stereotypes, I’m just telling a story. Anyway, I starting thinking about my parents and what they taught me. Not things like spelling and math, but what they REALLY taught me. They damn sure didn’t teach me math, because I suck at it. But, the things that matter, I’m fairly good at, and that is all in part to my folks.

Now, those that know me know that I have what I would call an “interesting” relationship with my mother. Clue number one: I call her mother. I love my mother, but when we talk to each other on the phone, my hubs mocks us in the background by making “faxing” noises, and making comments about “interfacing” and “exchanging data”. That is the kind of relationship we have. But, my dad, now that’s a different story all together.

I am, in a shocking turn of events, a complete “daddy’s girl”. I am the youngest and the only girl. It’s Family Psych 101…of course, I’m a “daddy’s girl”. As a child, my dad could do no wrong. He was my giant hero that EVERYONE loved, but not as much as me. He taught me more about life than any textbook or course would ever. He taught me the path to take in life. He showed me, by example, what qualities to look for in a husband one day. And in turn, I married a tiny version of my father that we often refer to as, “Morrison Bouillon”. So, as we approach Father’s Day, I thought I would share with ya’ll some of my favorite lessons good old Doc Doc taught me.

1. The perfect art of sarcasm. I learned my skills from the master. We have trained for years, and as a result, my brothers and I can slay dragons with our wit. Our sarcasm is legendary in our town, nay, state, and if there was an Olympic team for sarcasm, my dad would be the captain. As a child, I listened in awe of the dryness in his delivery. Other fathers were good at playing catch and hunting and camping. Not my dad, he’s terrible at all of those things, but what he’s great at is sarcasm. Quick witted and little got past him. My favorite thing wasn’t what he said, but how he would say it. Deadpan, expressionless. Hilarious. One of my favorite examples of his is when my brother once said something along the lines of, “if something ever happens to mom…” and my dad just kept staring straight ahead, expressionless, and said, “son, don’t you know evil never dies”. Come on…now, that’s comedy. Even as little ones, we were never spared. If we asked for something ridiculous, he would say, “people in hell want ice water”, which is something I say, probably, 700 times a week. If we asked him if he wanted to go to the Dairy Bar for lunch, he would respond, “does the pope wear a funny hat?” And he just deadpanned everything, so it just made it that much funnier. I hear him come out of my mouth at least 100 times a day. His timing, his cadence, his delivery…brilliant.
2. A sense of adventure. My dad loved to travel, and in turn, he dragged us all over the place. I love museums because of him. I love art because of him. I love England because of him. I love Holland because of him. I do not like orange marmalade or blood pudding because of him, but I digress. Dad knew that the education gained while traveling was better than any classroom history lesson. Instead of learning in history class that the Rose Windows in Notre Dame where buried during WWII to save them, I learned that story while taking a tour of Notre Dame. That’s pretty bad ass, just sayin. Even if that meant, occasionally driving the wrong way down a double-decker bus lane in our over-sized rental van and then getting that same van stuck in a parking structure. Even if that meant inadvertently letting your daughter jump into an unheated pool in Scotland…in March. Even if, on that same trip, Dad randomly chose a name in the phone book matching ours, and made me knock on their door so they could meet their American relatives they never knew (or cared) they had. I’ve tried blood pudding and yeast paste in Great Britton because of him. I’ve seen the Mona Lisa because of him (slightly disappointing to be honest-not the work of art, the way it’s displayed). I’ve been forced to run around the Alps spinning and signing “The Hills Are Alive” with the golden boys for my parent’s amusement. The golden boys and I have run down the same beach where “Chariots of Fire” was filmed. I’ve seen Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and been to the Cowboy Hall of Fame. I’ve made art with a painter in Holland, and eaten so much orange marmalade that I’m good…for the rest of my life.
3. A love of food and cooking. Now, I realize that most of ya’ll grew up in a household where the mom cooked. I get it. That’s traditional. That is not ho w we grew up. My mother could cook the following: homemade brownies, London broil, and…well, that’s about it. My dad, on the other hand, would drive to Columbia to go to the Asian markets to buy egg roll wrappers, dried mushrooms, spices and other stuff you couldn’t get at the Winn-Dixie. He would lay the ingredients out on the butcher’s block and we would get to choose what we wanted in them, he would wrap them up and drop them in the fryer. Yummo. He was a foodie before that was even a thing.
4. A duty to serve the public. I grew up in a small town where, for a while, Dad was the only pediatrician in town. It was not uncommon for someone to ring our door bell in the middle of the night with a sick baby. He made house-calls and sometimes took food or services as payment for those who either couldn’t afford it, or as in most cases, had really good food! I couldn’t wait until he was on-call on the weekends, so that I go to the hospital and make rounds with him.   As an adult, I look back and think how I never knew that it was a pain in his ass to get up early on a Saturday morning and drive 30 minutes to the next town over, where the hospitals were, and see patients. I took away his love for helping people in a time of crisis…dammitt.
5. Not being a wuss. Our heads would have to be practically severed for my dad to be remotely concerned about us. You had to be plague sick to get to stay home from school and forget about faking it. I distinctly remember my dad telling me that salt water was “good” for wounds, and no worries about that rusty nail you just accidently stabbed yourself with…you’ll be fine. And guess what, I was, and I still am…proud to report, I haven’t bled to death yet.
6. A love of sci-fi.
7. The patience of a saint. My dad has this habit of pressing the “imaginary brake” when he is a passenger in your car. I’m sure many of ya’ll are familiar with this concept. The one where the passenger grabs the “oh-shit” handle and attempts to subtly press the imaginary brake that resides in the passenger floorboard. Well, Dad does that. All. The. Time. Every. Time. He can’t help himself. When we make the four plus hour drive from the lowcountry to the upstate for football games, it takes the patience of a seasoned monk to not punch him in the face. I have thought twice since turning 15 about putting him out on the side of the road. But, instead, of leaving him to hobble up the side of 26 on his bad hip, I have developed patience that would later in life help me work with the mentally ill…go figure.
8. The ability to not get grossed out. My dad and I will sit around the dinner table and talk about someone’s guts literally hanging out of their backside. For as long as I can remember I have listened to Dad talk about the crazy stuff he saw at work over supper, much to the golden boys and mother’s chagrin. None of them have the stomach for it. But not me, I was fascinated by Dad’s ability to separate the horrors and sadness that can come along with a job like his, and turn it into a clinical learning experience. It’s gross and nerdy all at the same time!
9. The art of doing nothing. My dad an do nothing like a Nascar driver can hug a turn. He’s a master at it. Call him up on a Saturday afternoon and ask him what he is doing. His response, “nuthin”. “I know Dad, but what are you really doing?” “Nuthin, I’m sitting here in my chair, doing nuthin”. “Dad, you’re not watching TV or reading or doing a Suduko puzzle?” “No, I’m doing nuthin”. Try it sometime…doing nothing is glorious! I really didn’t appreciate it as a kid. As an adult, please, ask yourself when the last time you were bored…um, never! What we used to call boredom, as an adult, we call relaxing. AKA, doing “nothing”.
10. The art of not taking yourself to seriously. Come on folks, we are only here for a brief period in time. Please try and not take yourself too seriously. Life is too short. If you want to go out an buy a convertible that makes you look like you are a Shriner because you are tall and the car is small, then Dad, you totally should. And when you have to fold yourself in half to cram yourself in that tiny car to cruise around…you go for it old man! Wear your Tiger Town Tavern “1 Just turned 21” T-shirt with pride, even though, we are all fairly sure that the printing press hadn’t been invented when you turned 21 so there is no way there was a shirt to commemorate it. The point is…Dad still acts like a kid, and it’s really fun to watch! I don’t ever want to grow up either Dad.

So, as Father’s Day draws near, if your dad is still with you, or not, take a minute to think about all you have to thank that big goofball for. After all, you act just like him!