DaveSays

Hi Baby Loves.  This week my dad wrote for me because he owes me for his partial contribution to my existence.  He is a Buddist ninja that is really easy to make laugh.  His mentionable extracurricular activities include public speaking, writing, building water features and meditating for long periods of time usually over Christmas so he does not have to buy anyone anything.  He has a fake hip, a cool young wife and two cats.  In his spare time he likes to play the piano, plant corn in his front yard and put up Christmas lights.  Let’s give a round of applause to Dave......

I have been reading my wonderful daughter’s blog for some time and finally decided that it was time for a bit of commentary. Reading my role in some of her posts had a knee-jerk reaction to write an instant rebuttal. However, when that passed and I was still laughing I realized there was an amazing curiosity developing. No doubt a blog written by any of her siblings would feature a completely different take on any shared incident, vacation, and their youth.  Dad, my siblings can all attest to the fact that I got left at a gas station when I was eight when you were supposed to be watching me. This is in spite of their living in the same house, eating the same meals, having the same pets, vacations, Dad weekends, genetic material, etc. This curiosity led to the conclusion that every human being alive creates their own 'evidence room' of themselves. 

I realized that what Erin had put in her evidence room under lock and key was unique to her. Given a set of circumstances arising in front of her in the present moment, she will race along the aisles of her private archives and react to whatever is going on with this information. Sometimes it flies off the shelves with a volatile intensity and results in a blog that is brilliantly written with a sense of humor that is incredible. How does one take the difficult health issue of an ovarian cyst and turn it into a hilarious (albeit gross) aspect that so many women must deal with?  Dad, I attribute my courage of admission to you.  Growing up you were not embarrassed to wear a flesh colored bathing suit over the butt cheek tattoo you got when you were drunk in college, so I figured why should I be ashamed of the half-babies I occasionally grow on my ovaries when I get bored.

How could she take the thoughtful and informative nature show about aquatic mammals (aka beavers), and turn it into the most insane and hilarious retrieval of evidence about our sexuality I have ever read. Dad, I do not know what you are referring to.  YOU were the one that took us to a beaver show with your parents.  I thought it was extremely informative as I had no idea that a beaver could stay under water for fifteen minutes because of their thick fur or that they chewed on logs.  How was a father to know that two humping rhinos at Wild Animal Park would be such a touchstone moment for my young and impressionable children to file away in their private evidence rooms?  Dad, now THAT incident was extremely messed up of you.  I forgive you despite my attachment disorder and disdain for human touch.

All her blogs gave rise to a bit of curiosity about my own evidence room. Of course, since I am in my sixties it's more like the national archives. Whatever Dad. I saw the “How to Have Sex Following Your Hip Replacement” booklet your doctor gave you.  It is jam packed with proof of the BIG ME in no particular order I can discern. 

Sometimes out of the blue an incident unfolding in front of me rouses intense and hot reactions. The good news being that I finally figured out that the reaction is in me. I know that the evidence flying off the internal shelves like a proletariat horror movie is an inside job. Dad remember the time you totally lost your shit and threw a loaf of bread across the lawn, that was funny.  Or when you took us on a road trip and had a fucking coronary when no one wanted to wake up and look at the “raging river” you were fixated on.  Or when you wouldn’t let your daughter borrow the car because she “might wreck it” but you let your son and he totally did.  That was pretty much awwwweeeesoooome.  I can hear myself saying, "Get out! Get out! We traced the call and it is coming from within the house!!". Now the growing sense of humor about my reactions is usually enough for me to smile inwardly, not respond in a way I will regret the next day, and return to a sense of curiosity about the WTF moment.  

That someone can read her blog and laugh about her experience of an ovarian cyst may help them out in dealing with the same thing. The utter hilarity of being in a human form with all our relationships, human foibles, idiosyncrasies....good, bad,messy, boring...is a workable situation. It is heartening to know we have the ability to become aware and examine our 'evidence' and let it go. Her writing has certainly allowed for a reexamination of some of my own evidence about family in a way occasionally edgy yet completely workable with the kind manner and hilarious approaches she has taken with her words. Judging from the comments it is clear that a good number of people are benefitting from her occasionally outrageous view on this phenomena of being human.  

It all comes down to this. I love the blog. I am impressed with her uncanny ability for honesty and creative use of the 'F' word (Fuck) and hope she continues to write and hone her skills for the benefit of others for a long time.  Thanks Dad, we’ll see.  I am just trying to recoup my therapy costs so tell your lawyer to quit calling me. I will give you a cut as soon as I cash in on my childhood.  I realize none of this would have been possible without you.  It means a lot that you still speak to me semi-regularly. 

I love you, Erin.     Dad 

PS I love you too, Dad.  You are pretty much fantastic and funny.    Erin XO