Get Ready My Darlinks


My mother who is not very into the social scene, has agreed to go over to my mother in laws house for a "Big People Party".
This may sound like not much, but my mother in law loves music, loves to dance, likes to have a drink or two and a smoke. In short, my mother in law likes to have fun.

My mother enjoys nothing listed above, least of all fun.
I'm going over there to help out with the food.

Originally, my mother wasn't going to go, but when she found out that I would be going anyway, she decided to come.
Yesterday my mother called in a panic and left this message on my answering machine:

"Sine, vat tim are ve goink? Vat does she drink? I hev to by a battle. Pa, don be dis vey...yu hev to tell me...yu no I don lik dis 'et da las minuta' tings...don be smart. Call me ODMA (right away)"

So, later today...I'm headed over there with my mother.
This should make good blogging material.

Dear Chesterfield,

So, there I was surfing around the other day, when I was stopped dead in my tracks!
There you were, kicking back at Erik's place!



I was shocked!
Haven't we been good to you?
Haven't we cleaned you semi-annually?
Didn't we buy you a matching loveseat for company?

I mean, we've been together since our days at the Balliol Street apartment.
That's what?
Eight, maybe nine years.
You're not going to throw all of that away are you?

Granted, you do look comfortable.
I see that you've got his blankets draped over you.

Scandalous!

Yes, I saw that Erik has two computers and a lot of shelves to keep you company.
I saw that he even has a TV in the living room...is that what you want?
A TV in the living room?
Human conversation isn't enough?

I know that both Christmas's are coming and there will be kids crawling all over you with sticky fingers and lots of asses putting pressure on you over the holidays at our place...and who knows, we might have to pull your bed out too...I know how you hate that.

Ok.
He's got his Christmas tree up...granted.
But, we can get one this year too...I promise...this weekend...

Ok?

We need you...

Please come home....

Make Memories

While out walking, there is nothing I like to see more than fathers with their children.
I remember once seeing a man acting like a goofy ass with his child and then spontaneously lifting his child onto his shoulders and galloping off down the street with his child laughing in that hiccupping laugh that children get when they are beyond happy.
It brought a smile to my own face.

I love a man who loves his kids.
It says a lot about a mans' character.

The Mister, when his children were small used to do all kinds of things with his two sons. Catch, bike riding, blading, movies, monster truck rallies, baseball games, and on and on.
I used to love watching him with them.
I often thought:

“He’s making memories”

One thing that was a ritual with them was kite flying.
See, The Mister grew up in Guyana, and apparently in Guyana kite flying was a big deal in the springtime.

This was no “half-assed go to the toy store and buy a kite and fly it” endevour.
This was a “get some balsa wood, string, specialized paper, paint and a bunch of other stuff and make a kite” endevour.

Every March the kite creating would begin, always with a different theme every year.
Complete with elaborate tail and special cuts to make noise as the wind blows through it.

Then, during Easter long weekend, they would go out and take turns flying it down by the lake.

For some whose fathers were absent or didn’t have the time, inclination, or just didn’t make the effort to make memories with their children, making them with their own is of tantamount importance.

They get to have those memories.
They grab them and hold them through their own children.

So if your Dad made memories for you, I hope you look back on those times with fondness, because children who don’t know any different often don’t realize how lucky they are to have a father to make memories for them.

If you’re a father who makes memories, I raise a glass to you.
Because you help to make better people of us all, those of us who watch and those who have the privilege of the effort made by a man who loves his kids.