There are 3 reasons why I got ahold of Karen and asked her if I could join in her Fly on the Wall series:
1.) My son recently accused me of oftentimes “blathering on and on.”
I swear I have no idea where he comes up with this stuff. I have never—not once in my life—said this to anyone, not even my mom. It would be somewhat hypocritical of me, no?
He just comes up with things like this. It’s like the time he told me that some parents are awesome and some parents are “good enough” before patting me on the head condescendingly and saying, “And it’s okay to be ‘good enough,’ Mom.”
He’s five. The teenage years are going to be a fcking blast, right?
Anyway, since I apparently have a problem with “blathering on and on,” Fly on the Wall seemed to be a nice change for me as it’s comprised of little snippets of conversation heard around one’s home…with little to no blathering.
2.) I made my dad a little too proud with last week’s post, and I need to rectify that.
3.) I needed something to do with all of the shit heard around my dad’s house when the Golden Child blessed us with his beatific presence last summer.
For anyone who doesn’t already know, my younger brother totally stole the Golden Child title from me just out of high school, when he stopped being an irresponsible douche and signed up to join the armed forces.
He’s still a douche, mind you, but now he’s a douche with a respectable job, and apparently that’s all it takes in my dad’s eyes.
Anyway, I’ve never gotten over it, especially since not only did he knock me from my former glorious golden position, but somehow he managed to get me to the ass bottom of the favorites list, even below my sister who can’t read and my brother who stole Dad’s washer and dryer.
How the hell did that even happen?
I have no clue, but I’m certain it had nothing to do with anything that I did back in college, such as calling my dad at 1:30 AM, just after the bars closed, and asking him to come and pick me up and drive me home—oh, and could he please hurry before the convenience stores stopped selling alcohol for the night, so that he could stop and pick me up a case of beer on the way since I was having a gentleman caller over for afterbars? Thaaaaaaanks.
Anyway, no matter how it happened, that a-hole brother of mine is now the Golden Child, and it seems that the title will not be won back very easily. I know this because when GC was home this past summer, I tried to bring Dad a beer, making sure that he saw me shine it on my shirt and give him a slight curtsy as I opened it and set it before him. But he just rolled his eyes and said, “Give it up, Shay. It’s over.”
So I’ve just accepted it, along with conversations like the ones that I now present to you as part of the Fly on the Wall series entitled “When the Golden Child Comes Home”:
My older sister, still pregnant: “Everybody had better be able to make it home for the baby’s Baptism. I scheduled it for the end of July.”
Me: “But the baby hasn’t even been born yet.”
Older sister: “I’ll make sure I push her out by then. I’ve already started swallowing buckets of castor oil. I need to make sure she’s born and can be baptized before GC leaves. He’s going to be her Godfather.”
Me: “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Older sister: “What do you mean?”
Me: “GC hasn’t stepped foot inside of a church in 33 years. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Holy Water sizzled his finger right off. Seriously, the GC thing has always been annoying, but lately it’s gotten even worse. What the hell is up with everyone and St. Golden Child?”
Older sister: “He gives good gifts.”
Me, pausing. Then conceding: “Okay. Okay, I can see your reasoning there.”
Every single year, when GC comes home, my dad forgets all of the stupid shit he did the previous years, such as setting one of Dad's trees on fire with a 4th of July paper lantern and ruining every single one of his cell phones, year after year. I got a call one afternoon from a number I didn’t recognize, and even though I normally won’t answer calls from numbers I don’t know, I decided on a whim to pick up. It was my dad.
Me: “What’s this number you’re calling me from?”
Dad, hesitatingly: “Oh, GC broke my phone, so I had to get a new one.”
Me: “Again? Didn’t he do that last year?”
Dad, defensive: “No! He lost it last year during a drunken one-night stand. Totally different.”
Me, shaking my head on the other end of the line: “Oh, yes. Totally different. So how did he break it this year?”
My preschooler, eavesdropping: “Uncle Golden Child broke Papa’s phone again? Why does Papa keep letting him borrow his phones when he comes back to visit?”
Me, shrugging at my preschooler and raising my eyebrows: ??
Dad: “Oh, I don’t know how it happened. I think he spilled beer on it or something. No big deal. It still works. You just have to hold it at least 3 inches from your face while screaming into it really loudly. I overestimated that first day and blew out your little sister’s eardrum, but they’ve got good insurance, so I didn’t bother GC with the details…”
GC, at the end of a voice message he left me: “Alright, I gotta go, sis. Dad says he needs to massage my feet while fixing me breakfast…hang on a second—“
GC, turning his head to scream away from the phone: “I said MIMOSA, old man, not plain ORANGE JUICE! Can’t you HEAR?!” In the background, sounds of a glass crashing against the wall and my dad’s footsteps, scurrying off toward the kitchen to fix GC a proper mimosa.
GC, signing off, and I never knew you could actually HEAR an eyeroll in someone’s voice, but trust me, you can: “Dude. I’ll call you later. Old man’s driving me nuts. Has anyone had him fitted for a hearing aid recently?”
Another voicemail from GC: “Hey, tell my nephews hi for me. And tell them Papa says hi, too. He can’t talk, though, because he’s busy making bacon and eggs for the GC, know what I’m sayin’?”
Dad’s cheerful, sing-songy voice in the background: “Hey, GC, you want salt on those eggs?”
GC: “DAMMIT, old man, you KNOW I like salt! SHIT!”
And then more quietly, to himself: “How many damned times do you have to tell someone…”
And then, giggling: “Anyhoo! Call you later, sis!”
Dad’s Facebook status update, early July:
Siblings: Try to be around tonight to light fireworks for the GC. I don’t like the way he had to keep bending over to light all of them last night. I am afraid he might strain his back or maybe get too fatigued to drink his beer. To my eldest daughter specifically—I realize that you’re heavily pregnant, but c’mon. This is GC. GET YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT!!!!!
Yes, he seriously did use 5 exclamation points.
And finally, something that one of my nephews said that had nothing to do with GC, but it was one of the most hilarious things we heard all month. My dad had taken him to his tee ball game, and my nephew was getting ready to walk onto the field when my dad stopped him:
Dad, crouching down to the ground in duck stance: “I really like to play tee ball. Do you think they’ll think I’m a kid and let me play if I stoop down like this? Don’t I look short enough to be 5 now?
My nephew, studying Dad for a moment before saying in his adorable little-boy lisp: “Yeah, but your face still looks old. I don’t think they’ll believe it.”
Before I sign off, I have an exciting announcement. I'll be guest posting on Dani Ryan's Cloudy, with a Chance of Wine on Monday. I am such a creature of habit and schedule that a Monday post is a very rare occurrence as it's a departure from my normal Fridays. But c'mon...it's Dani! How can you say no to being featured on her site? I'm so honored that she asked me, so please head over there Monday morning to see what I have to share!
Also, if you enjoyed my Fly on the Wall, please check out the other ladies participating in the series this week:
Have a wonderful weekend!