He Started It

   There are some things one never outgrows. For my brothers and me that thing is adolescence. This was fully on display during our New Year’s Day Skype-call between me and my twin [1].  I don’t know who started it (well technically if Mom asks, it was totally his fault-he started it honest), but somehow we ended up comparing bellies. He was making the general point that he has more of a six-pack than I do, even though there are less than two pounds difference between us. Granted his weight is dedicated to muscle, where my weight is more of the blubbery kind. So there we are in front of the cameras with our shirts pulled up arguing about this. He is winning the argument, so I call for reinforcements:

         “Hey, J. come here a second!”

Enter my thirteen year old son, who is now traumatized by the sight of identical middle aged men sucking in their stomachs trying to talk without letting their guts spill over their jeans.

“Oh my God, you’re an ape!”

“Yeah, yeah, just tell us who has got the better abs”

“Please, please tell me I’m never going to be that hairy!!!”

"J. just tell Uncle Glenn that your Dad is cut like a rock!" 

(full disclosure time, I held out five fingers off camera, indicating  how much money such a declaration might earn him [2])

"MOOOOM , the're doing it again!"

 

         There is a reason that my son can’t be bribed. It all started about eight years ago while I was wrestling with J, who was about five years old at the time. Please note that as I tell this story it is very clear WHO STARTED IT (that would be Glenn, in case you miss the subtle nuances of this tale). Uncle Glenn called just as I was doing my best Andre the Giant attacks Super Speed Boy[3] routine. I put my son in a scissor lock so I could talk to my brother. After I explain the situation to Glenn, he asks if he could talk to J. for a second. I hand the phone down to my knee-caps. J. starts to giggle and eagerly agrees with his soon to be favorite Uncle. He hands the phone back to me.  I get as far as “Wh” before J. hits me in the groin.  Rolling over in agony I could hear in one ear my son triumphantly shouting, “I win, I win, it worked!” The other ear, pressed to the phone, heard a resounding belly laugh from my brother. Thus started an alliance, against me, that can withstand the temptations of a five dollar bribe.

         Hey, D., I know you are only five, but if you can read this ask your Dad if you can call Uncle Corey. I have a really fun job for you.

        

---

[1] For those of you unfamiliar with Skype, it’s a free video conferencing tool.

[2] As long as we are being that honest, I should disclose that I am about 30 lbs. past a six-pack.
[3] Five year old boys generally stink at making up cool wrestling names.

Mig’s Dream

A few days after Herb's death, Mig dreamt about her father. She was sitting on the beach in front of her home in St. Criox when she saw the old man walking towards her. He was surrounded by dogs. This was not all that unusual. Herb was always a man who preferred the company of dogs over most people. He was a man who carried dog treats in his pockets, just in case.

It was no surprise that he would gather a crowd of Carribean beach mutts as he walked. Even in a dream, dogs meant the world to Grandpa Herb.

         “Dad, Mom’s going to kill you when she sees all of these dogs”

Then Mig remembered, her father was gone. She looked closer at the dogs and began to recognize them.

         “Dad, what’s going on?”

         “They all came back to me. Each and everyone. Every dog I ever owned.” He paused, tossing a treat to the closest open mouth. Laughing he said to Mig,

         “I’m going to keep walking, I’ll see you later.” 

He walked away in the middle of the pack, cigar smoke trailing behind him.

-----------------------

Grandpa and I never really understood each other. Not the way my other brothers knew the man. While he held court in his little sitting room, smoking cigars and watching golf with my brothers, I was in the kitchen listening to Grandma talk politics and learning how to drink strong coffee. 

But dogs…..he and I always had a way with dogs. We understood that part of each other, the part that could speak dog. It was our wordless bond. Some people have Bar Mitzvahs. My rite of passage into adulthood was when Gramps asked me to take care of Jo-Jo, an ornery mutt with the body of an over-fed Corgy and the face of a mustached Terrier. It was the highest compliment he ever gave me. 

The dream is likely an invention, but I’ll keep it. It is how I choose to remember Gramps.