I haven't been feeling like writing anything humorous lately, with my dad in hospice and all. But that situation is giving me a lot of time to reflect on one of the funniest people I know: my father.
Nobody can tell a story like he can. He typically says something so far-fetched, you can't believe it's true. Then you run into someone who has known him for 50+ years and validates everything he has ever said. Like the time he got drunk with his police officer friend and sped around town with the lights and siren on, or when he and his buddy stole a grocery cart and drove it through a restaurant with my dad inside, or when he got caught in the middle of an Indian uprising in Northern Minnesota, or when he showed the nuns at Parochial school his famous left hook.
Every story he told finished with, "...and that's a fact." He took the Lord's name in vain so frequently, I thought my nickname was Jesus Christ. He got a twinkle in his eye when he was ready to feed me some B.S. about how a bear ripped his hair out and made him bald, when he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his hairy chest to a waitress, or when he sang me to sleep as a kid with old whore house show-tunes he modified into lullabies.
He made all of my dates come inside our house before taking me out and pass his multiple question tests while he cleaned his hunting rifle. He told me never to accept any paid-for drinks from men as I was then expected to sleep with them, that I should never marry a doctor because he'll cheat on me with his nurses, never marry a Swede or an accountant because they are boring, and to never date anybody named Ron because they're ass holes. He's a regular Dr. Phil.
They don't make 'em like Big Chuck anymore. Thanks to him, I didn't marry a Swede, doctor or a Ron; I know what to do if a nun gives me trouble; and I know how to make teenage boys fearful of ever dating my future daughter.
I will miss you, daddy.
Nobody can tell a story like he can. He typically says something so far-fetched, you can't believe it's true. Then you run into someone who has known him for 50+ years and validates everything he has ever said. Like the time he got drunk with his police officer friend and sped around town with the lights and siren on, or when he and his buddy stole a grocery cart and drove it through a restaurant with my dad inside, or when he got caught in the middle of an Indian uprising in Northern Minnesota, or when he showed the nuns at Parochial school his famous left hook.
Every story he told finished with, "...and that's a fact." He took the Lord's name in vain so frequently, I thought my nickname was Jesus Christ. He got a twinkle in his eye when he was ready to feed me some B.S. about how a bear ripped his hair out and made him bald, when he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his hairy chest to a waitress, or when he sang me to sleep as a kid with old whore house show-tunes he modified into lullabies.
He made all of my dates come inside our house before taking me out and pass his multiple question tests while he cleaned his hunting rifle. He told me never to accept any paid-for drinks from men as I was then expected to sleep with them, that I should never marry a doctor because he'll cheat on me with his nurses, never marry a Swede or an accountant because they are boring, and to never date anybody named Ron because they're ass holes. He's a regular Dr. Phil.
They don't make 'em like Big Chuck anymore. Thanks to him, I didn't marry a Swede, doctor or a Ron; I know what to do if a nun gives me trouble; and I know how to make teenage boys fearful of ever dating my future daughter.
I will miss you, daddy.