Tonight, after sushi with my parents, I went back to my dad's house, where a bizarre instance of father-daughter bonding occurred.
My stepmom was having trouble with her stereo receiver, so dad was trying to get her to understand what was going on. He had the stereo cabinet open, and I noticed some records, including an original release Beatles LP I had found in a thrift store before I had a turntable.
This led to a discussion of records, which led to my dad showing me his vinyl for the first time. He has quite a bit, all meticulously alphabetized in a window seat on the landing of the stairs.
I went through them one at a time, with my dad standing over me, telling me about the records. For example, he has a nearly pristine copy of "Thriller" that he said he bought because everyone was saying how great it is, and it broke some record. I pointed out that it was the number one selling record of all time.
Tucked among the Rod Stewart, Grateful Dead and CCR records were some things I'd actually like to have. He has a copy of "Sgt. Pepper's" with the original inserts. He has T Rex, and "Abbey Road", and "Born in the USA".
There was some overlap - we both own Jethro Tull's "Aqualung", and my copy of "The White Album" is in much better shape than his is. We talked about records we had missed - he had sent back a copy of John Lennon's "Imagine" with a B-side that was apparently nothing but John and Yoko making noises, and over the holidays, I passed up a copy of Dangermouse's "Grey Album" on vinyl.
It wasn't all sunshine, though - I made fun of him quite a lot when he deserved it. Supertramp? My dad is a Supertramp fan. He might be Ian from High Fidelity in disguise. Also, though he has lots of Dylan, he doesn't own "Blonde on Blonde."
Sometimes, it's all too easy to forget that my parents are people. For Christmas, I gave my dad three mix tapes with handmade liner notes. He said that he wanted to talk about them, but he wasn't quite finished absorbing them.
The whole evening reminded me how much I'm like my dad. Normally, when I say that, I'm thinking of the traits that we share that I'm not too proud of. But tonight was good - it reminded me that there's a lot of him in me that's good. And though he is quick to point out that of course my musical taste came from him, (because if he hadn't been around, I'd still be listening to the Beach Boys) I'm ready to remind him that he hasn't ever listened to "Pet Sounds", and that he should give the Beach Boys another chance, in mono, with headphones.
just like Brian Wilson,
Kerry
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Jan 27, 2008
Nov 22, 2007
Do Not Try To Defeat This Feature
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Is everyone else in a turkey-induced coma right now? Rather than going dancing tonight, I'm sitting at home in my pyjamas with the space heater cranked to 11, listening to Belle and Sebastian. My belly is poking out. I may never eat again.
Normally, my holidays are a marathon event. I'm sure this is true for a lot of children whose divorced parents live in the same town. My younger brother and I usually kick off the day with my mom at a big potluck for wayward souls. There's a ton of food, styrofoam cups with our names written on them in sharpie, and football on the big screen. Only, Kevin and I never get to stay for the football. We drive to Midtown for round two, with our dad and stepmom. Last year, following the second meal, we took food to Granddad, which meant we ate again. The next morning, I went to Colin's family's day after brunch and ate again. For those of you playing along at home, that's four Thanksgivings in 24 hours.
This year, we veered from the usual format a bit.
Before I talk about that, though, I have to point out that Thanksgiving was a little weird for me this year, in that it didn't feel like a holiday at all. When I was in school, we had three days off. In college, every holiday was neatly punctuated by the nine-hour drive to or from Muncie. Yesterday, I worked a full day. Tomorrow, I will work. This adult thing kinda sucks sometimes, eh?
This morning, I met my family at the Wayward Souls Potluck, where Kevin and I sat at the kids' table. Again. (I swear - I will be married, and have my own children, and will still be sitting at the kids' table.)
Following that, I drove downtown to my friend Martin's apartment. Martin is from Indiana, and rather than going home, he had a handful of people over for food, football, booze and dancing. A few people were going to go to Beale Street for blues dancing, but I just couldn't do it. I know I'm missing the gym or whatever today, but dancing on all of that food just didn't seem like a good idea.
Because this is a holiday about being thankful, here's a short (probably kind of random) list of things I'm really glad to have in my life:
- A strangely-knit (but really fun) family made up of my actual parents, a few fake parents, my kick-ass brother, and assorted others. They let me do my laundry in their houses, have taken care of me for years, and give me the giggles at inappropriate times. I love them all.
- The greatest group of friends a girl could have, The Black Glasses Brigade. Even though you're all up there, and I'm all down here, you're still some of the most fantastic people I know. Thanks for being around, and being my best friends.
- The car I saw the other day advertising a local burger place. There were all of the usual car ad decals (albeit small ones). On the roof, however, was some of the most magnificent DIY work I've ever seen: a red rubbermade stuffed with yellow swimming pool noodles (aka french fries), bungy corded to the car. It was amazing, and I'm so glad that there are creative people in the world.
- My cozy little apartment. Sure, on the weekends, it sounds like a techno dance party (thanks, neighboring gay bar!), and it's a bit drafty, but it's mine, and I'm happy here.
- The New York Times. NPR. This American Life. Ira Glass. Reuters. The Associated Press. The BBC. News in general. I love news. I eat it for breakfast.
- Records, and the sound that needles make when they touch down on the vinyl. And my iPod. Pop music in general, really.
- My really, really kick-ass best-friend-turned-boyfriend, Matt. He's cute, and smart, and hasn't let the fact that he thinks I'm cute distract him from talking at length about records with me. And he calls me "dude." I'm thankful that we finally, finally figured out that we should date.
- Good books and bad TV.
- You. Thanks for reading, for commenting, for being you. Whether you've been around since the big idea that lead to No Formal Training (and Trent's drinking problem), or you're just joining the party, thanks for reading. If you weren't around, I'd just be journaling. It would kind of be like being a crazy cat lady. And really, where's the fun in that?
ready for anything,
Kerry
Normally, my holidays are a marathon event. I'm sure this is true for a lot of children whose divorced parents live in the same town. My younger brother and I usually kick off the day with my mom at a big potluck for wayward souls. There's a ton of food, styrofoam cups with our names written on them in sharpie, and football on the big screen. Only, Kevin and I never get to stay for the football. We drive to Midtown for round two, with our dad and stepmom. Last year, following the second meal, we took food to Granddad, which meant we ate again. The next morning, I went to Colin's family's day after brunch and ate again. For those of you playing along at home, that's four Thanksgivings in 24 hours.
This year, we veered from the usual format a bit.
Before I talk about that, though, I have to point out that Thanksgiving was a little weird for me this year, in that it didn't feel like a holiday at all. When I was in school, we had three days off. In college, every holiday was neatly punctuated by the nine-hour drive to or from Muncie. Yesterday, I worked a full day. Tomorrow, I will work. This adult thing kinda sucks sometimes, eh?
This morning, I met my family at the Wayward Souls Potluck, where Kevin and I sat at the kids' table. Again. (I swear - I will be married, and have my own children, and will still be sitting at the kids' table.)
Following that, I drove downtown to my friend Martin's apartment. Martin is from Indiana, and rather than going home, he had a handful of people over for food, football, booze and dancing. A few people were going to go to Beale Street for blues dancing, but I just couldn't do it. I know I'm missing the gym or whatever today, but dancing on all of that food just didn't seem like a good idea.
Because this is a holiday about being thankful, here's a short (probably kind of random) list of things I'm really glad to have in my life:
- A strangely-knit (but really fun) family made up of my actual parents, a few fake parents, my kick-ass brother, and assorted others. They let me do my laundry in their houses, have taken care of me for years, and give me the giggles at inappropriate times. I love them all.
- The greatest group of friends a girl could have, The Black Glasses Brigade. Even though you're all up there, and I'm all down here, you're still some of the most fantastic people I know. Thanks for being around, and being my best friends.
- The car I saw the other day advertising a local burger place. There were all of the usual car ad decals (albeit small ones). On the roof, however, was some of the most magnificent DIY work I've ever seen: a red rubbermade stuffed with yellow swimming pool noodles (aka french fries), bungy corded to the car. It was amazing, and I'm so glad that there are creative people in the world.
- My cozy little apartment. Sure, on the weekends, it sounds like a techno dance party (thanks, neighboring gay bar!), and it's a bit drafty, but it's mine, and I'm happy here.
- The New York Times. NPR. This American Life. Ira Glass. Reuters. The Associated Press. The BBC. News in general. I love news. I eat it for breakfast.
- Records, and the sound that needles make when they touch down on the vinyl. And my iPod. Pop music in general, really.
- My really, really kick-ass best-friend-turned-boyfriend, Matt. He's cute, and smart, and hasn't let the fact that he thinks I'm cute distract him from talking at length about records with me. And he calls me "dude." I'm thankful that we finally, finally figured out that we should date.
- Good books and bad TV.
- You. Thanks for reading, for commenting, for being you. Whether you've been around since the big idea that lead to No Formal Training (and Trent's drinking problem), or you're just joining the party, thanks for reading. If you weren't around, I'd just be journaling. It would kind of be like being a crazy cat lady. And really, where's the fun in that?
ready for anything,
Kerry
Nov 12, 2007
The One Where the Two Meet
Last Monday afternoon, my grandfather passed away after not doing very well for quite a long time. He was 85, and it wasn't by any means sudden, but it was still pretty sad, as he and I were close.
The funeral was Thursday, and it was a pretty interesting experience. I hadn't seen much of that side of the family in a really long time. It was also the first time I got to meet the elusive Other Brother Jimmy, my dad's half brother.
The fact that I have a half-uncle that I've never met wouldn't be so weird if he didn't have the same name as my dad's older brother (my real uncle). I'm not sure what Granddad was thinking when he named his first two sons both James - it's a little weird. What was even weirder was the fact that my real uncle (for all intents and purposes referred to here as "James") had no idea that he even had a half brother, much less one with the same name. Throughout the funeral, strangers kept coming up to James and saying things like "Jimmy! It's so good to see you!" and then making very Jimmy-specific comments while James stood there, looking confused.
The funeral itself was moving, and complete and everything that I think Granddad would have wanted. That is, except for the open mic. Crawfords, as a rule, tend to be silent at times when big emoting is expected. We prefer stoicism and sarcasm in a lot of instances, and it works for us. Apparently, Other Brother Jimmy missed out on this part of his genetics, because he stealthily went to the funeral director before the funeral and insisted that there be a portion of the program where family could get up and express their feelings about my granddad. He also had his wife type up a speech.
As soon as we saw this in the program, my brother immediately freaked out and started asking my dad and my uncle if we have to talk. They assured us that they had nothing to do with the open mic, we were relieved, and all was well. That is, until we realized that Other Brother Jimmy looks just. like. Dwight Schrute from The Office.
My brother and I have a long history of getting the giggles at really inappropriate times (like in church, on Christmas eve, and at funerals). When Other Brother Jimmy got up to give his talk about Granddad, it sounded just like something Dwight would write about Michael Scott if he ever thought that Michael had passed away. And though we managed to hold it mostly together, there were some stifled giggles.
And though it still seems strange that I'll never see Granddad again, I'm alright. Thank you to everyone who expressed sympathy. It totally helped, and I appreciate you all.
I have other Big Things to talk about (like my Prom party, and the goings on of my birthday weekend), but I've got to get to U of M for dance. You'll just have to wait.
Definitely not naming her kid James,
Kerry
The funeral was Thursday, and it was a pretty interesting experience. I hadn't seen much of that side of the family in a really long time. It was also the first time I got to meet the elusive Other Brother Jimmy, my dad's half brother.
The fact that I have a half-uncle that I've never met wouldn't be so weird if he didn't have the same name as my dad's older brother (my real uncle). I'm not sure what Granddad was thinking when he named his first two sons both James - it's a little weird. What was even weirder was the fact that my real uncle (for all intents and purposes referred to here as "James") had no idea that he even had a half brother, much less one with the same name. Throughout the funeral, strangers kept coming up to James and saying things like "Jimmy! It's so good to see you!" and then making very Jimmy-specific comments while James stood there, looking confused.
The funeral itself was moving, and complete and everything that I think Granddad would have wanted. That is, except for the open mic. Crawfords, as a rule, tend to be silent at times when big emoting is expected. We prefer stoicism and sarcasm in a lot of instances, and it works for us. Apparently, Other Brother Jimmy missed out on this part of his genetics, because he stealthily went to the funeral director before the funeral and insisted that there be a portion of the program where family could get up and express their feelings about my granddad. He also had his wife type up a speech.
As soon as we saw this in the program, my brother immediately freaked out and started asking my dad and my uncle if we have to talk. They assured us that they had nothing to do with the open mic, we were relieved, and all was well. That is, until we realized that Other Brother Jimmy looks just. like. Dwight Schrute from The Office.
My brother and I have a long history of getting the giggles at really inappropriate times (like in church, on Christmas eve, and at funerals). When Other Brother Jimmy got up to give his talk about Granddad, it sounded just like something Dwight would write about Michael Scott if he ever thought that Michael had passed away. And though we managed to hold it mostly together, there were some stifled giggles.
And though it still seems strange that I'll never see Granddad again, I'm alright. Thank you to everyone who expressed sympathy. It totally helped, and I appreciate you all.
I have other Big Things to talk about (like my Prom party, and the goings on of my birthday weekend), but I've got to get to U of M for dance. You'll just have to wait.
Definitely not naming her kid James,
Kerry
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