Sunday, June 17, 2012

Mitosis, DNA Replication and Not Pulling Out

Ciao fuckers!

I hope you are scrubbing down the grill for that bloody beautifully marbled Ribeye, filling the tub with ice for the beer, and wrapping a gifted ugly tie right now, because it's FATHERS DAY! Fathers Day. That red headed step child of a Hallmark holiday, always second to Mother's Day. Despite the efforts of retail advertisements for deals on electronics, fancy lawn mowers and a pair of self cleaning underwear that promises to get rid of skidmarks--wait...that's a goddamned brilliant idea I just came up with. Self cleaning underwear for men, that promises not to leave a single skid mark. Who wouldn't buy that for the special man in their life?!!

Picture this: you're on an aeroplane. You're 30,000 feet up in the air and forgot your reading material. The in flight movie is some god awful antebeullum South movie, starring Jennifer Aniston and Gary Shandling. It's fucking torture. The guy next to you reeks of the new Gelfite fish filet from McDonalds, your pot cookie hasn't quite kicked in so you're lucid as hell...and there's a teenager on the other side of you blasting his iPod and rapping along with Drake. You are trapped like Persephone in Hades. As a last ditch effort, you pick up the Sky Mall magazine hoping to be transported to a happier place. After page 13, you're feeling pretty fucking good because you're thumbing thru all kinds of gadgets for sale. A laser that zaps Herpes. A device that will implode inside of that pesky raccoon, who keeps getting into the cellar and eats all the fucking Cheeze It Crackers you were saving for Armageddon. Oooh the pot cookie kicked in. Hang on, wait a minute! What's this then? Self cleaning skid free underwear for men? By jove man! Its fucking genius iddn't?

You rip the page from Sky Mall magazine with the ad for the skid free undies and order that shit the minute you hit the tarmac.  The gift will be enroute by the time you claim your baggage from the carousel. Then, your father, uncle, husband, boyfriend, son, baby daddy, gay sperm donor dad will be so pleased at this sleek and practical gift. For the first time ever they will be excited over a shitty gift for Fathers Day. Pun INtended. You my friend, will be the best fucking person walking the streets of North America! And you will have me to thank.

But before we can go skipping down the primrose path, we have to remember we're not quite there yet. Seems to me, that America has always thrown a wee bit of shade towards Fathers Day. Most of us (not ALL of us) forget about the holiday. We know it's coming, but then we get distracted. Then we hear that radio ad for BBQ sauce, and it triggers the memory of dear old papa. We scramble to Walgreens only to discover all of the greeting cards are gone...then we're forced to make up some arts & crafts macaroni on construction paper creation that spells out: Dad, thanks for busting a nut inside mom. Love, your kids.  *the pot cookie is most likely still in effect.

Some people are irked and deeply troubled by Father's Day because they're battling some dead beat dad in court over child support. Some don't know who the dad is of their beautiful, healthy child...and it's torture-some.  Newly separated parents can't agree on how to co-parent.  Some dads are locked up in prison. Staring at a ceiling in hospice care.  Staring at a grave marker of a life taken too soon. Trying to navigate their feelings of being the dad, but having to make room for the new step dad...who will live with the child and the ex full time. Miscarriage. Dementia. Ward of the court....or simply injustice.

Some people are stark raving glad and mirthful by Father's Day because they're flying a kite at the park. Sitting quietly in the boat, rods steady waiting for that catfish to bite. Choked up over the Father's Day program at church. Laying rosemary at a grave site in remembrance.  Enjoying a meal at the hospital cafeteria...because it's the first time he's been able to get off the respirator. Finding out the pregnancy test is in fact positive!  Receiving a letter in the post. Oh some passerby says "Hey! Happy Fathers Day man!"

Watching a Cosby show marathon is a perfect way to spend Fathers Day, because maybe Mr. Cosby is the only dad you've ever known. Fred Flintstone though a cartoon, made you laugh and feel loved. Perhaps Ricky Ricardo taught you a bit of Spanish while singing, and you pretended that your dad was from Cooba. James Evans was tough, but he loved you didn't mind living in the projects.  And when Stevie Wonder sang "Isn't She Lovely" he was your dad for 6 minutes and 38 seconds.  
Whatever the case may be for you, I do hope that there has been and will always be some beautiful spirit that you can call Father. Someone that you can go to for comfort. Guidance and protection. So today possum, I hope that you will immerse your self in love and pay homage to that one generative being who makes you smile. And if tears come with that, it's okay. You may not have had a dad to coach you thru little league, or help you with homework nightly...but you will still continue to grow. Don't let anything stop you my little acorn, from growing into that oak tree. A butterfly doesn't hold on to it's let go of the anger. Participate in your own have everything you need to do so.

Happy fathers day to all you Dads.
Happy fathers day to all you Moms. Hold it down. You're doing just fine.

ciao for now fucker,


Next Blog: Not so HAPPY DAYS. Why Richie & Joanie Cunnigham conspired to get rid of their elder brother Chuck Cunningham...He was gone after one episode. Sigh. Howard was a fucking terrible father for allowing that. No Fathers Day love for you Howie!

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