Ultra Mega Pop
Wow... My father turns 79 today.
(CSM blows a kiss backstage at No Fun 3, March 2006. Or, maybe whistles for his squeeze of 46 years to hasten from the ladies room at Red Lobster... Same freakin' diff!)
Born in 1927 at the cusp of the Great Depression, Charles Marion served as a sailor in World War 2, pulled himself up by his penny loafers to become a real estate agent (and later a land manager for a large agribiz conglomerate), brought home the extra-fatty bacon to my mother, Eunice (whom he met shortly after the end of the war), and sired as diametrically opposite a pair of kids as you could imagine. My sis, Patricia, is a stone-cold Republican and a corporate exec, while I, er, took a slightly different path. (I love my sis, despite her political shortcomings.) My dad's folks died when I was rather young, but I remember them well. Grandfather Smith worked for the railroad, while Grandma raised a wolfpack - three boys, three girls. Only my father's older brother, George, survives. Uncle Geo conducted a nearly decade-long genealogical survey of our family - I'll forever be grateful for his scholarship and tenacity. Turns out my father's parents' ancestors emigrated from France in the 1870s. They were bloody Huguenots! Reckon I've let the side down completely...
Anyhow, seeing as my dad is so goddamned ill and all, this might conceivably be one of the last days I can indulge my predilection for over-the-top birthday shenanigans. The cake is in the fridge, and photos of grown-ass adults in funny hats will be forthcoming...
TS
(CSM blows a kiss backstage at No Fun 3, March 2006. Or, maybe whistles for his squeeze of 46 years to hasten from the ladies room at Red Lobster... Same freakin' diff!)
Born in 1927 at the cusp of the Great Depression, Charles Marion served as a sailor in World War 2, pulled himself up by his penny loafers to become a real estate agent (and later a land manager for a large agribiz conglomerate), brought home the extra-fatty bacon to my mother, Eunice (whom he met shortly after the end of the war), and sired as diametrically opposite a pair of kids as you could imagine. My sis, Patricia, is a stone-cold Republican and a corporate exec, while I, er, took a slightly different path. (I love my sis, despite her political shortcomings.) My dad's folks died when I was rather young, but I remember them well. Grandfather Smith worked for the railroad, while Grandma raised a wolfpack - three boys, three girls. Only my father's older brother, George, survives. Uncle Geo conducted a nearly decade-long genealogical survey of our family - I'll forever be grateful for his scholarship and tenacity. Turns out my father's parents' ancestors emigrated from France in the 1870s. They were bloody Huguenots! Reckon I've let the side down completely...
Anyhow, seeing as my dad is so goddamned ill and all, this might conceivably be one of the last days I can indulge my predilection for over-the-top birthday shenanigans. The cake is in the fridge, and photos of grown-ass adults in funny hats will be forthcoming...
TS
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Yrz,
Tom