As I stroll thru life (limp, waddle, hunched over lil bitty steps, whatever you wanna call it) I try to keep my thoughts, actions, behaviors on the path of "live life pretending that your folks are watching your every move."
I do do that. (If I take the ordinate amount of cups of coffee in the morning, I do do too.)
Forgive me dad, for I:
Was at that stoplight at 291 and I-35. Sat there for a long time awaiting red to turn green. Dad it never happened. Never is a long time, yes, I know, and sure, I exaggerate, but twue, it's twue, it's reawwy twue, the light changed four times, but never ever turned green the direction I intended to go. Forgive me dad, I went.
Disliked. (Hate is a strong word, prolly shouldn't use it.) Oh, what the heck. Dad, for a long time I hated anything, everything about Excelsior Springs, MO. Why? Good question. They say the rivalry (Liberty, MO vs Excelsior Springs, MO) dates back to 'pert neer the Civil War.' Duel. Back in the dinosaur days (that's when I was in HS) annually we played a football game against them, the winner got the symbolic (real too) Dueling Pistols to display for the next year. Dad we ALWAYS lost back then. At least our era. Despise, no likey, pee pee on your Hall of Waters. Dad, since that day (we lost by 40-something I think back in 1970) I have loved (not liked, loved) every single person I've met from Excelsior Springs. Dad, I feel sheepish baa'd. Coworkers, classmates/fraternity brothers in college, friends of friends, every stinkin' one of 'em I met, I really loved, I ain't kidding. Toss in the fact they gotta wunnerful golf course (we ain't even got one), The Dairy B ice cream is well worth the 15 mile drive, and the ribs at The Wabash, are fall off the bone good, I love me some Excelsior Springs. I'm sorry dad.
I owe the Twin Drive In fitty cents. I was in the trunk dad, I'm sorry. OK, OK, OK, twice. I owe 'em a dollar. The fitty cents to a dollar is the only time I ever lied dad.
OK, maybe there was another. Once. I was toiling away at my cubicle at work, my phone rang, it was my boss. "ARE YOU ASLEEP?" Ahm, no. (I was dad, it was me, and the cherry tree). "Someone just told me they walked by your cubicle and you were asleep." I ain't never done a backflip dad, but I wanted to. WHY? WHY would someone walk by, see me sleeping, then run tell my boss? Why couldn't they just tap me on the shoulder? I finally admitted "maybe I did just doze off for a second." I futher explained, "my girlfriend's infant granddaughter spent the night, she's colicky, and we were literally up ALL NIGHT. I'm sorry. I will never fall asleep here again." Dad I ssssssttttttttrrrrrreeeeeettttttccccchhhhhheeedddd that one. Her granddaughter WAS extremely colicky, but, she hadn't spent the night with us the night before I zonked at my cubicle. I lied pop, but just that time, Scout's honor.
Dad, I guess I 'lived in sin' I think they call it. No, we weren't married, But dad, the divorce rate on first marriage is roughly fitty percent, and dad, it's MORE THAN 60% on second marriages, so, we cohabitated just to be sure. Dad, we never.... you know. Scout's honor.
Dad, that platonic lady friend I lived with. She had a nifty screened in back porch. I suggested we get a TV for it, so, bought one, nice one, Big'n. Many a nice night on her porch Netflix and chill. No dad, that's not what I meant, we actually chilled out, watching Netflix. Then one day we split. I fetched the bigscreen to my new apartment. Dad, when I turned it on, right there thanks to my Roku was the Netflix app. I clicked it dad. It said "enter gf's name here", dad, I clicked yes, forgive me. For three years, up until my TV finally went kaput, I watched Netflix for free using "enter gf's name here." I'm sorry dad. If any consolation, I'd bought, and left, a HUGE jar of those bone treat things for her hound pooch when I left. I never told "enter gf's name here" about me stealing her Netflix for a long time. I feel bad dad, Scout's honor.
Dad, another thing. Webelo. Yeah, that's when, you're nearing the end of your Cub Scout journey, ya get all these badges, so that one day you can become a real live, walkin' talkin' Boy Scout. Dad, I never made it. One of the requirements was to "go to a church, talk to the preacher, ask for some small gesture you can do (pickup trash, mow, vacuum, etc)" for your final Webelo badge. Dad, we never went to church back then, I was skeered to death. I didn't, couldn't do it. Ibelo Webelo. I never made it to be a Boy Scout. I'm sorry dad, Scout's...er, I mean, really, I'm sorry.
Finally dad, I don't like KU. Oh I respect their institution, fine place. Their basketball tradition is virtually unmatched, I do admire that. But dad, it's some (not all, but some) of the behavior of their fans. OK, maybe it's more than that. I ain't really a fan of all those bigass Mercedes Benz fans out there in Kansas, and, they tend to make mountains outta their flinthills, and yes, sunflowers are nice, but their texture? Patooey. Dad, their fans. Some of 'em. There's this one guy, every time their basketball team wins, he posts "Next." (He even did his undergraduate work at MU dad!) And then another guy, whenever KU does anything, and I mean anything, he posts 17 times about it. Every day.
Dad, if you want, I can go fess up to MODOT that I ran that light. I'll seek out, tell each and every person I know from Excelsior, send 'em a Merry Christmas card, even sign it "Love, Victurd". I'll take a George to the dude that now owns The Twin. Oh hell, I've give him Five for inflation. I'll tell that lady that was my boss, I really was asleep, I'm sorry. I'll even tell "enter gf's name here" that I stole Netflix for a long time. I'll even go pull weeds at the Christian Church.
But dad. I can never ever like KU.
Scout's honor.
Love, Victurd
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