Saturday, August 20, 2005

Why I tell stories

The dad is here for his annual visit.

Scene: I'm eating peanut butter toast, looking through the Land's End catalog while the dad folds laundry.

the dad: Land's End? Where'd you hear of that?

me: I don't know.

the dad: You are supposed to keep stories of all this stuff. Spencer Gifts. The first time I ever saw Spencer Gifts was the very first time I went to my aunt's house and met her for the first time. She had the catalog there, and I looked through it because there was not one other thing to do in that house. And that's how I got all my venus flytraps. How the hell do you fold this spaghetti underwear of yours?

* * *

Scene: The dad and I are driving to mini-golf.

the dad: I could be like your grandmother. Ask you the same thing a hundred times. Like when your brother and I went down there in the truck and slept in the back of the truck because we didn't want to sleep in that marshmallow bed they got where you just sink down in the middle pit among all the marshmallowness. And that hitch on the truck would scrape on the way out of the driveway. And she'd say, "What's that?!" "What's that?!" "What's that?!" "What's that?!" EVERY time.

me: She's your mom.

the dad: She's your grandmother. And you're just like her. [laughs]. You're not. Nah, you're like your great grandmother. You go all ballistic like she did when you're fed up with something.

me: Yeah, but I haven't attacked any strangers with a garden hose yet.

No comments: