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- Jun 5, 2002
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aaahhhh.. the 4th of july.. you know.. fireworks, picnics, family get togethers, flags a flyin'... NOPE.. at least in my household.. ya see nothing was ever normal in my household growing up.. and the 4th of no exception.. the reason you may ask dear reader? well.. that would be because of the man who spawned me.. but i get ahead of myself.. read on..
my father was a irishman.. lets call him james.. he love it.. he lived it.. think of any typical stereotype for the irish and my father was not deviated from it.. if you were not irish there was no need suck precious oxygen on this blue ball .. you took up needed space for the irish to propagate..
he stood a monsterous 5 foot 3 inches tall and never weighed more than 125 pounds.. he had wavy white hair that was the envy of all males in the tri state area.. .. he had the disposition of the cartoon chihuaha that would chase the bigger dogs and do much barking.. the difference? my father, in his demented state actually believed in the dark recesses of his grey matter that no one could with stand the fury of james.. tyson? nay... lidell? mere childs play.. anderson silva? bring him..
my household was filled with nothing but the ill timed practical joke.. roman candle shot in your room at 5 am? typical.. shot in the backside while taking a pleasurable urination by a blow gun? sure.. grabbing you by your testicles and making you kneel to praise him? two times a week.. he would then walk defiantly away as though he just solved the worlds hunger issues.. only with a faint high pitched cackle which was his laugh.. get the picture i am painting?
back to the story.. every 4th of july my father would throw a party which started at 8 am.. this party was attended by our citys finest.. fellow doctors, lawyers and anyone else my father deemed worthy of his presense.. (many attended because of a on going bet around town of the time frame of james death.. please read on to understand) all you could eat and drink.. and if you did not intends to drink at the crack of dawn?.. please dont attend and kill the vibe..
the one thing that made our family atypical in retrospect was the firework of choice of my father.. you see the thought of a lady finger or sparkler made not my fathers loins move.. a earth shattering m80? not even a twitch.. a antique civil war cannon? now you are sinking into james' world.. his sick sad world.. (one day i will tell ya how he came across this object.. oh so sad)
at 8 am my father would roll out the cannon packed with more black powder than needed to decimate a regiment of yankees and touch off the first shot.. if you were not awake at this hour you surely were after hiroshima 2 belched forth..
now we lived in a upper class neighborhood and the houses were fairly far apart by todays standards but it did not stop the windows from rattling for hundreds of yards around.. many of the neighbors complained endlessly to authorities about my fathers need to play with artillery.. but most were too busy eating chilli and getting skunked at my residence .. so the party would always continue..
one such day my father was completely pickled by 8.07am.. he was feeling rather full of himself this brutally hot 4th (the chant of "jim, jim, jim" did not help matters any.. it stroked the old mans ego more than if jenna jameson yelled it herself..) my father stood by his cannon with pride that morning.. a bottle of irish whiskey in one hand and his cigar in the other.. wearing his green beret hat ever so gently cocked to one side he had a aura of debonair about him.. the crowd was restless.. they wanted something more.. the taunts.. the cheers.. i could see the wheels turning in my fathers head.. me being a mere lad of 15 or so that year and my brother (who i refer to as my 5th sister) was about 24 at the time.. we had no control over what would ever be done but yet my mother would always request that we "watched" over my father so if we could prevent the madness that always ensued.. this morning was no different..
my father heard the chants and taunts and made up his mind that the show would be something for the record books.. he walked into the garage.. the cannon a mere 10 feet away.. and he would do a double dose of powder.. would that appease the crowd? maybe.. but my father was leaving nothing to chance.. he reaches into his golf bag and grabs a few golf balls.. i see this and decide to take action..
"what the hell ya gonna do with that?" i ask..
" what the hell ya think sally?" he retorts looking me in the eyes slowly puffing on his infamous cigar..
" do you really think that is smart?" i ask knowing the berating i will take..
"if i were smart i would have had two boys with balls instead of you two queens of the ball now wouldnt i?" he replies with a smirk..
now dear reader what i said next i knew as soon as i belched forth the words would end badly " well i might just go tell mom what your up to".. i spat out..
he slowly turns and walks to me.. pulls out his cigar and says " well why your at it..why dont ya latch back on to that teet she put away 15 years ago.. it might be the last one ya see".. he spins around with that damned cackle and heads to the cannon.. my sister.. i mean brother stood by quite.. he was scarred at this point in his life and wanted no part of the following drama.. cant say i blame him now..
my father now takes the golf balls and rolls them tightly in newspaper.. he rams them down the barrel with the crowd at his back.. the crowd is still unaware that my father has decided to "go live" with the festivities.. he rolls the cannon around to face our backyard which was about two acres long.. and grabs the lanyard in his hand.. and slowly looks at me.. he gives a smirk that only i knew meant "f@#$ off" in james world.. and slowly bent his wrist toward me in a "limp wristed" fashion as to insult my manhood.. he lets it rip...........
as the smoke clears nothing special is apparent.. some newspaper is lying in the grass on fire and smoldering.. but nothing out of the ordinary... i turn to my brother and say "i think he got lucky and the balls exploded and broke apart"... my brother "yeah.. could be" and we leave it at that..
the party continues. drinking.. eating.. more cannon shots.. more cheers.. the episode is basically forgotten...............until i hear a faint sound.. a familar sound.... hhhmmm.. firetrucks ?.. many of them.. i look to the back yard and i notice that the sound is coming from the neighborhood behind ours.. a few hundred yards in our back yard......... i listen... could it be? no way... my brother walks up behind me... we say no words.. we just look at one another... his eyes bulging... he then breaks the silence "do ya think?".. i cut him off "i dont think the balls could go that far intact".. he looks towards the sound "yeah.. your right"... but deep down dear reader i know james has struck again..
another 10 minutes pass... my father still slamming shots and yelling insults (really no different than it was july 3rd) is in the process of another load in his prize possession.. i notice coming up the street slowly is two state police cars.. i look at my brother and he looks as though his vagas nerve is going to make the command to launch breakfast.. i tell myself that it is not unusual for the police to stop by and watch.. why would this be any different? oh yeah.. because my insane father, who lacks any forethought and conscience, put live rounds into his toy.. forgot.. they pull into the drive... the drunken crowd starts to boo fearing that they are going to shut down the festivities.....
my father stands there.. in his driveway defiant.. like braveheart staring down the english.. he slowly pulls the cigar from his mouth.. squinting as only he and eastwood could do.. now dear reader the following dialogue could not be wrtten any better if quinton tarintino did it himself...
"what can i do for you boys.. i have a permit.. and the show must go on"... my father says with a tad bit of annoyance..
"hello there doc.. hope your having a good time" replies the officer with a ample smile and demeanor..
" well.. we are having a great time.. if you boys care to watch their is chilli on the patio.. if that is your intention" my father says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.. the crowd still voicing their displeasure..
the officer walks towards my dad still smiling.. he is willing to carry on the game of verbal chess... "doc, you arent shooting anything out of the cannon are ya?" hands on hips and still looking as though he is seeing his first bike under the tree at christmas.. cool as they come.. not his first rodeo..
my father.. with his tell- tale squint slowly takes a puff out of his cigar .. stone faced he replies "well now officer.. that would be illegal now wouldnt it?" never taking his eyes off the officer.. the stare down was brilliant.. my brother and i were mesmerized.. who would take the day?
the officer slowly reaches into his vest and pulls from it what appears to be a charcoal briquet.. he puts it right in front of my fathers face and asks oh so politely " would this happen to be yours doc?"
my father still has not taken his eyes off the officers eyes.. he was going for the act of intimidation.. brilliant.. not working but brilliant..
" i cant say that i have ever seen that before... looks like a lump of charcoal .. why you ask?" he says still holding out to the last.. a lesser man would have broke.. read on..
" you telling me doc you have not idea who this belongs too?" the officer says still with that toothy grin.. does he know something? or is he trying to get my father to break? this is intense!!!!
" that is exactly what i am saying.. sargent is it?" .. he says a bit annoyed..
the officer still holding the charred remains in his hand slowly turns the briquet to show my father that the other side is not charred... myfather is not looking but still staring at the officer...
"doc.. is that your name inprinted on this ball?"
CHECKMATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
what ever would my father say? even the master of deception surely can get his way out of this.. would he drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness? would he throw himself on the mercy of the officer.. surely the time for cockiness is over??? right???
a slow smirk comes over his face and he replies "so.. how much damage did i do?" ...WHAT?!!??!?! thats it?.. no remorse.. nothing!?!? "how much damage did i do?"... the man is brilliant..
"well it went through a residence window and lodged in her wall catching it on fire in her den".. the officer replies now annoyed at my fathers lack of concern..
my father turns and looks in the direction of the house in question.. and with the tell tale smirk says "huh.. who would have thought it would go that far? " i am shocked at the lack of concern.. but not really.. he then turns to the officer and says "i think that was a titlest.. good ball"...... PART 2 TOMORROW...
my father was a irishman.. lets call him james.. he love it.. he lived it.. think of any typical stereotype for the irish and my father was not deviated from it.. if you were not irish there was no need suck precious oxygen on this blue ball .. you took up needed space for the irish to propagate..
he stood a monsterous 5 foot 3 inches tall and never weighed more than 125 pounds.. he had wavy white hair that was the envy of all males in the tri state area.. .. he had the disposition of the cartoon chihuaha that would chase the bigger dogs and do much barking.. the difference? my father, in his demented state actually believed in the dark recesses of his grey matter that no one could with stand the fury of james.. tyson? nay... lidell? mere childs play.. anderson silva? bring him..
my household was filled with nothing but the ill timed practical joke.. roman candle shot in your room at 5 am? typical.. shot in the backside while taking a pleasurable urination by a blow gun? sure.. grabbing you by your testicles and making you kneel to praise him? two times a week.. he would then walk defiantly away as though he just solved the worlds hunger issues.. only with a faint high pitched cackle which was his laugh.. get the picture i am painting?
back to the story.. every 4th of july my father would throw a party which started at 8 am.. this party was attended by our citys finest.. fellow doctors, lawyers and anyone else my father deemed worthy of his presense.. (many attended because of a on going bet around town of the time frame of james death.. please read on to understand) all you could eat and drink.. and if you did not intends to drink at the crack of dawn?.. please dont attend and kill the vibe..
the one thing that made our family atypical in retrospect was the firework of choice of my father.. you see the thought of a lady finger or sparkler made not my fathers loins move.. a earth shattering m80? not even a twitch.. a antique civil war cannon? now you are sinking into james' world.. his sick sad world.. (one day i will tell ya how he came across this object.. oh so sad)
at 8 am my father would roll out the cannon packed with more black powder than needed to decimate a regiment of yankees and touch off the first shot.. if you were not awake at this hour you surely were after hiroshima 2 belched forth..
now we lived in a upper class neighborhood and the houses were fairly far apart by todays standards but it did not stop the windows from rattling for hundreds of yards around.. many of the neighbors complained endlessly to authorities about my fathers need to play with artillery.. but most were too busy eating chilli and getting skunked at my residence .. so the party would always continue..
one such day my father was completely pickled by 8.07am.. he was feeling rather full of himself this brutally hot 4th (the chant of "jim, jim, jim" did not help matters any.. it stroked the old mans ego more than if jenna jameson yelled it herself..) my father stood by his cannon with pride that morning.. a bottle of irish whiskey in one hand and his cigar in the other.. wearing his green beret hat ever so gently cocked to one side he had a aura of debonair about him.. the crowd was restless.. they wanted something more.. the taunts.. the cheers.. i could see the wheels turning in my fathers head.. me being a mere lad of 15 or so that year and my brother (who i refer to as my 5th sister) was about 24 at the time.. we had no control over what would ever be done but yet my mother would always request that we "watched" over my father so if we could prevent the madness that always ensued.. this morning was no different..
my father heard the chants and taunts and made up his mind that the show would be something for the record books.. he walked into the garage.. the cannon a mere 10 feet away.. and he would do a double dose of powder.. would that appease the crowd? maybe.. but my father was leaving nothing to chance.. he reaches into his golf bag and grabs a few golf balls.. i see this and decide to take action..
"what the hell ya gonna do with that?" i ask..
" what the hell ya think sally?" he retorts looking me in the eyes slowly puffing on his infamous cigar..
" do you really think that is smart?" i ask knowing the berating i will take..
"if i were smart i would have had two boys with balls instead of you two queens of the ball now wouldnt i?" he replies with a smirk..
now dear reader what i said next i knew as soon as i belched forth the words would end badly " well i might just go tell mom what your up to".. i spat out..
he slowly turns and walks to me.. pulls out his cigar and says " well why your at it..why dont ya latch back on to that teet she put away 15 years ago.. it might be the last one ya see".. he spins around with that damned cackle and heads to the cannon.. my sister.. i mean brother stood by quite.. he was scarred at this point in his life and wanted no part of the following drama.. cant say i blame him now..
my father now takes the golf balls and rolls them tightly in newspaper.. he rams them down the barrel with the crowd at his back.. the crowd is still unaware that my father has decided to "go live" with the festivities.. he rolls the cannon around to face our backyard which was about two acres long.. and grabs the lanyard in his hand.. and slowly looks at me.. he gives a smirk that only i knew meant "f@#$ off" in james world.. and slowly bent his wrist toward me in a "limp wristed" fashion as to insult my manhood.. he lets it rip...........
as the smoke clears nothing special is apparent.. some newspaper is lying in the grass on fire and smoldering.. but nothing out of the ordinary... i turn to my brother and say "i think he got lucky and the balls exploded and broke apart"... my brother "yeah.. could be" and we leave it at that..
the party continues. drinking.. eating.. more cannon shots.. more cheers.. the episode is basically forgotten...............until i hear a faint sound.. a familar sound.... hhhmmm.. firetrucks ?.. many of them.. i look to the back yard and i notice that the sound is coming from the neighborhood behind ours.. a few hundred yards in our back yard......... i listen... could it be? no way... my brother walks up behind me... we say no words.. we just look at one another... his eyes bulging... he then breaks the silence "do ya think?".. i cut him off "i dont think the balls could go that far intact".. he looks towards the sound "yeah.. your right"... but deep down dear reader i know james has struck again..
another 10 minutes pass... my father still slamming shots and yelling insults (really no different than it was july 3rd) is in the process of another load in his prize possession.. i notice coming up the street slowly is two state police cars.. i look at my brother and he looks as though his vagas nerve is going to make the command to launch breakfast.. i tell myself that it is not unusual for the police to stop by and watch.. why would this be any different? oh yeah.. because my insane father, who lacks any forethought and conscience, put live rounds into his toy.. forgot.. they pull into the drive... the drunken crowd starts to boo fearing that they are going to shut down the festivities.....
my father stands there.. in his driveway defiant.. like braveheart staring down the english.. he slowly pulls the cigar from his mouth.. squinting as only he and eastwood could do.. now dear reader the following dialogue could not be wrtten any better if quinton tarintino did it himself...
"what can i do for you boys.. i have a permit.. and the show must go on"... my father says with a tad bit of annoyance..
"hello there doc.. hope your having a good time" replies the officer with a ample smile and demeanor..
" well.. we are having a great time.. if you boys care to watch their is chilli on the patio.. if that is your intention" my father says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.. the crowd still voicing their displeasure..
the officer walks towards my dad still smiling.. he is willing to carry on the game of verbal chess... "doc, you arent shooting anything out of the cannon are ya?" hands on hips and still looking as though he is seeing his first bike under the tree at christmas.. cool as they come.. not his first rodeo..
my father.. with his tell- tale squint slowly takes a puff out of his cigar .. stone faced he replies "well now officer.. that would be illegal now wouldnt it?" never taking his eyes off the officer.. the stare down was brilliant.. my brother and i were mesmerized.. who would take the day?
the officer slowly reaches into his vest and pulls from it what appears to be a charcoal briquet.. he puts it right in front of my fathers face and asks oh so politely " would this happen to be yours doc?"
my father still has not taken his eyes off the officers eyes.. he was going for the act of intimidation.. brilliant.. not working but brilliant..
" i cant say that i have ever seen that before... looks like a lump of charcoal .. why you ask?" he says still holding out to the last.. a lesser man would have broke.. read on..
" you telling me doc you have not idea who this belongs too?" the officer says still with that toothy grin.. does he know something? or is he trying to get my father to break? this is intense!!!!
" that is exactly what i am saying.. sargent is it?" .. he says a bit annoyed..
the officer still holding the charred remains in his hand slowly turns the briquet to show my father that the other side is not charred... myfather is not looking but still staring at the officer...
"doc.. is that your name inprinted on this ball?"
CHECKMATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
what ever would my father say? even the master of deception surely can get his way out of this.. would he drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness? would he throw himself on the mercy of the officer.. surely the time for cockiness is over??? right???
a slow smirk comes over his face and he replies "so.. how much damage did i do?" ...WHAT?!!??!?! thats it?.. no remorse.. nothing!?!? "how much damage did i do?"... the man is brilliant..
"well it went through a residence window and lodged in her wall catching it on fire in her den".. the officer replies now annoyed at my fathers lack of concern..
my father turns and looks in the direction of the house in question.. and with the tell tale smirk says "huh.. who would have thought it would go that far? " i am shocked at the lack of concern.. but not really.. he then turns to the officer and says "i think that was a titlest.. good ball"...... PART 2 TOMORROW...