Sorry Mom

We’ve been begging Great Mom for months to let us blog about OurDad, but she always says, “The answer’s still, NO.”

Actually the first time we asked she said, “What’s a blog?” When we explained she laughed a lot, then she realized we were serious. That’s when we made the mistake of showing her a few blogs, and we got banned from using the computer for a month. “

“No! The way your father plays around on the internet he’s bound to find it sooner or later, and then... well, do you really want him to know what we say about him when he’s not around. It would ruin all the fun.”

She had a point, “But why should we keep it all to ourselves?”

“N-O!”

However, today he did something so “OurDad”, N-O or not, we took it as a sign. Like Great Mom’s gonna find out; she can hardly find her email.

So here goes:

I’m Boy Child (5/16/96) and I’m Girl Child (7/2/98) some of our posts will be from me and others will be from me, and some by the both of us, but they will all be about OurDad.

OurDad is great when he’s not driving us crazy, or embarrassing us, or making us do homework (even during summer), or worst of all trying to fill our heads with literary classics. Keep that Emily lady and that creepy Poe guy to yourself. We don’t care what you think of Shel Silverstein. We like him. And we don’t care if you’re from Missouri we’re not reading Huck Finn. We were born in Michigan, and we’ll keep reading Johnathan Rand’s chillers.

Usually OurDad is just driving us crazy and no one gets hurt, but today, oh boy, it was really embarrassing. We’re glad we weren’t there to see it, and that, luckily, no one got hurt. It was so bad in fact that we didn’t even tell Great Mom—which is usually the first thing we do when she gets home from her executive job with an automotive supplier. That is if we don’t call her cell phone first. “We’ll tell mom” are the three most powerful words spoken at our house.

This year summer has started early for OurDad, because some full-timer at the CC where he teaches biology decided they wanted the overload pay and took his class so he’s not teaching the summer I semester. Now, you’d think that with “nothing” to do his mind would be clear enough to get through a day without the aforementioned driving us crazy and embarrassing us ect. But with nothing to focus his thoughts—it’s worse. We hate summer for this very reason. While our friends are all way at camp, we get “Dad Camp”—his name not ours. For the next few weeks, thank God we’re still in school, but Great Mom is a nervous wreck—sure that OurDad will burn the house down while he’s home all alone with “nothing” to do. We think that’s why she’s letting him work on his project at the library.

That’s where he was headed today when it happened. He’s on his way to the library at the same time the middle school kids are getting out for the day. Nice early start there dad. Busses all over the neighborhood, but that shouldn’t stop him, his head off in Literary Land. As he approached the entrance to our subdivision there was a bus stopped-- flashing red lights and that red octagon flap open with the letters S-T- O and P. Never mind all the visual cues, but the honking horn and screaming bus driver brought him back from Lit Land in time to slam the brakes and stop before passing the entire length of the bus, and before, any kids were actually crossing the street. A bus full of kids staring, the bus driver screaming, and some nosey neighbors looking out their windows to see just who was trying to mow down the middle schoolers. The kids got off the bus, and crossed the street, behind his truck, he watched the bus roll away in the rearview and he drove on. Definitely one for the embarrassing column.

That’s OurDad.

A tad anticlimactic you say? This was just his first day home alone! Sorry, Great Mom, but we’re not going to make it through this summer without telling someone what we’re in for at the hands of OurDad. And frankly, if we tell you, you might have a stroke, and then we’d be left with absolutely no parents what so ever.

He’s OurDad, but we love him.
Boy Child
Girl Child