Oh Brother.
My family is full of the colorful, but I’m gonna stick with what I know best and understand the least – My Dad. Which is fitting and all. This is actually a revised post from last year when I posted over at Sonia’s and the pursuit of happiness. . .
All kids go snooping through their parents’ stuff. I think it’s placed in invisible ink on our birth certificates that it’s something we all must do. Anytime I snooped, I never found anything all that great. I mean fine, so one time I snooped through my MOM’s stuff and found a letter my Dad had written to her post divorce where he had a line in there about how he “turned masterbationous” I’m pretty sure that word is not actually real, but the throw up in my mouth sure was and is.
Every time I went on an actual, legit mission into the belongings of the ‘rents (Dad and Mrs. Dad) I found some crazy shit.
Exhibit A.
At age 11, the search for a phone book takes me to Mrs. Dad’s bedside table. At the tender age of 11, I didn’t know that I should not under any circumstance open anyone’s bedside table. I know this now, because, after all, I now have my own bedside table.
I opened the drawer and got an eye full of the following items: something flesh colored, long and bumpy that looked like you could flip an on off switch; something resembling the facial massagers in the back of women’s magazines; a photo of my Dad with a woman sitting on his lap who had the biggest … Well, she would have gotten a LOT of beads at Mardi Gras.
Exhibit B.
A few years later, I had done laundry, and not wanting to deal with the laundry of 6 people sitting in the living room for my brothers to fuckup t he work I had done, I decided to put laundry away. I opened my dad’s sock drawer to deposit the much depleted sock collection back in the drawer and noticed there was a magazine in there. Being an avid reader, I tend to read things even without trying. I way too quickly read some words that indicated this magazine belonged in a brown wrapper. Or perhaps wrapped in a condom, cuz it appeared to be pretty dirty. I noticed some words were scribbled out … like a train wreck, I had to look. Oh yes, the name of the female in this piece of “literature” had been marked out and replaced with “Mrs. Dad.”
Hang on, it’s been almost 2 decades and I still feel the urge to heave when I think of it. Gag reflex is activated, must go swig some vodka to clean the palate.
I’m back.
Exhibit C.
I’d stopped by to visit with Dad on the way to the airport to pick up Scout (my now husband, father of the Kaiser). It was October. I was in Birks. My toes were cold. I went to get some socks to wear. (Yeah, I know. Socks with Birks equals Dork. But toes plus cold equals … well … cold.) I should have remembered the last time I touched that drawer. But I opened it, grabbed a pair of socks and had the drawer almost closed when I saw a bag of green stuff. Now, I don’t want to specify how I knew what this green stuff was … but I did. Okay? I read about it in a book or something. I threw the socks back in the drawer and figured cold toes were better than having “the talk” with my own father about how “just say no” wasn’t just for the 80s anymore.
Needless to say the lines “do as I say, not as I do” and “I learned it from watching you Dad, I learned it from watching you” have always been big winners when my brothers and I get together and describe our childhood to others.
When I came out of the bathroom, he was on the phone with my brother the Professor. He passed me the phone and left the room … for the bathroom … joker, smoker, midnight toker … whatever …. I muttered into the phone, “DUDE. DAD. HAS. WEED.”
My bro was all huh? wha? I’m thinking, damn bro you were the one with the speech impediment, shouldn’t you understand this shit?
I tried again. “DAD. HAS. WEEEEEED.”
Still jackshit from the bro.
Gottfucker.
“DAD!” I paused to let Bro catch up. “Yes, Dad, our father.” I sighed in relief. We were getting somewhere.
“Yes, yes…. DAD. HAS. WEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDD.”
“Dad has weed? Liar.”
Oh for fucks sake.
Two days later I got a phone call from the Prof.
“ZOMG DAD HAS WEED! I JUST CHECKED! and did you know he has porno mags in there too?”
#snort.
12 Responses to “Oh Brother.”
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Author: Dawn (aka Kaiser Mommy)
LOL!
Note to self, never go snooping through the parentals drawers.
That is very good to know.
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I once went snooping in a bedside table in my parent’s room and got an eyeful of a letter than my dad had written to my mom. (That was at least 20 years ago and I still feel queasy thinking about it.) I never snooped again, that cured me right quick!
And come to think of it…my brown paper bag from Blissdom is in my bedside table. Note to self, move it soon! lol
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See, my dad grows his shit in the back yard, so it’s not really a surprise or a secret.
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Funny.
I found porn on my mother’s computer…in the browser history. It wasn’t her, it was my brother. Good thing she never really learned how to use the computer, ’cause she’d have been horrified. I emptied the cache, but not before I shared it with my sister.
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Oh, man. The last one is great.
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The only thing I ever snooped for were Christmas presents.
My father was an avid photographer and left behind a huge collection of photographs and negatives when he and my mother divorced. For some odd reason, my mother couldn’t bring herself to throw away the boxes and suitcases full of the stuff. I’ve been a photographer at heart since I was a young girl and at 12 told my mother I wanted to go through the images and organize them. She said she didn’t care, I could throw them out if I wanted to do so. I found lots of negatives of my mother naked and in lingere.
Also, around the same age I lived with my grandmother for awhile because my mother and I weren’t getting along. My younger sister lived with my uncle and my older sister remained with my mother. My younger sister and I attended school closer to my mother’s home and traveled to school by bus from our respective temporary homes and would meet in front of the school early so we could spend some time together. One morning we decided we wanted to get a few things we had left behind, but absolutely needed and walked the two blocks to my mother’s. The house was quiet when we walked in and, knowing my mother was chronically late, decided to wake her up for work. I opened her door and found her sleeping wrapped around her boyfriend. I pushed my sister quickly out the front door.
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Oops! Sorry for the long comment.
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I found my Pop’s green stash in a heart-shaped chocolates box under the bed. I mean, c’mon! I thought there might be chocolate ferchrissakes! However, I was much happier with my find than I would have been with just chocolate…
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I found my mother’s… toy… when I was about 11. Had no clue at the time what it was for, but I did know what it was shaped like, and chased my sisters around the house threatening them with it.
My mother made sure her toys were much better hidden after that.
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I once found a shoebox in the very back of my mother’s closet that contained unspeakable things. So unspeakable that I will not speak of them here. All I will say is that just the thought of these things, now, like 15 years later, makes me retch a little. That should be enough.
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BUHAHAHA. OMG. Teh apple, it does not fall far, eh?
Also, the fact taht you used that picture is cracking my non-tampon ass up. FERREALZ.
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Dude — what can you say to those kinds of finds!
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