7.23.2007
Gigi McG and Sneaky Five
Sorry for the sparse posting the last couple days. I went with my mom and dad up to Stanford Medical Center. My dad's been feelin' poorly of late, and we thought it best to head right up there and consult with the experts. That we did, and he's doing okay.
But my purpose here tonight is to tell you a thing or two about my dad. You know, it's a helluva a thing, coming up behind a guy you look upon as already a good deal of the way through living the perfect life. I mean, he's my dad and all, but for pete's sake, he married the girl of his dreams, they're still googly-eyed in love 45 years later, he helped raise a well-above-average family (if I do say so myself), he's got four great grandkids to dote on and he's basically as content as can be, whatever comes his way. Doggonit, I'm jealous.
I guess peace of mind really is all it's cracked up to be.
I owe my pop fordamn near everything I've got, including a love of baseball, of history, of humor and knowledge and the ability to laugh at myself. I owe him for his work ethic. I owe my dad for the example he has always set for me when it comes to other people: "Treat every one with respect and dignity, because they've got something to add to your life."
I owe my pop for
I owe my dad for a lot of other things, too, including my neuroses, such as my habit of saving rubber bands and ziplock bags and twist-ties and squares of aluminum foil (you'd think I was a squirrel or a damn bluejay what with all the useless stuff I've got stashed away). I owe him for my way of re-folding the newspaper after I'm done so it's almost like new; for sticking Post-it notes in my wallet to remind me of inconsequential little things later (a book to read, a film to watch, an observation). I owe him for never being late. I owe him for my habit of balancing my checkbook even in this day-and-age of online banking... and for always filling in the check register in pencil (in case I ever, you know, need to change anything later). I owe him for my love of the Phillies. I owe him (and my mom) for my love of family, and of Ireland, and of wordplay and sarcasm and fun. I owe them both for everything.
I owe my dad for reminding me that "50 years from now you're going to be glad you saved [that]." Thanks to that advice, I have every concert ticket I ever bought; I have copies of the original publications from when: man landed on the moon; Nixon resigned; Springsteen made Time and Newsweek; Reggie Jackson signed for $2.5-million (over 5 years!); the Sex Pistols rampaged through the US; Challenger blew up; 9/11; and jeezuz, who knows what the hell else is in that big old box. Perhaps I'll look at it again 50 years from now.
My dad worked a full career down at some old naval base, telling Fortran programmers to get their butts in gear because the Seabees were waiting on their programs. But after he suffered a little bad luck on the health front, he was so impressed with the care he received he decided to take early retirement and switch fields: he went out and got his nursing degree. Holy cow. You wanna know how a hero goes up a notch? That'll do it.
There's really just too much more to cover tonight, but having spent the last two days with the happy couple, I just want y'all to know: You will never meet two better people than my mom and dad. I love 'em both.
Now back to your regular programming.
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