Mother's Day and the birthday of Poop.

This sunday is mothers day, and it always seems to pop up unexpectedly on me like a EPT with a big positive symbol, for some reason I can remember the point gap on a Volkswagen beetle (.016") but every mothers day someone reminds me to call my mom and wish her a happy one, that someone is my Dad, probably ashamed at the fact that his kids couldn't find their heads with both hands and a flashlight. Another big event that I forget all too often is the birthday of my beloved Poop, (you might be wondering why I am calling my Dad Poop right now, well it came from a late night email he sent me in which he signed it as poop as opposed to his usual, Pop, I thought it was funny), and that lands just 2 days after mothers day. Well this time I am going to get a jump on both, since my Parents are going to be out of state for the upcoming festivities visiting my grandmother in Denver, I figured I would post a few reasons why my Mother and Father are such great Parents in an essay titled...

8*8= Green M+M

Everything I am capable of doing today I owe to my parents, the basic building blocks of my being are founded from their genetic code, half of each, I think of that more so now with a child than ever, knowing that the same blood runs in my child's veins runs in theirs, I joke quite often that the baby has my hands, her mothers eyes and has my father's flatulence (watch out for the ducks), and that is something I am quite proud of. As I get older I see more and more of my parents in my behavior, If I see a bargain even though I have no need for the item, I still buy it, my Mother has perfected this strategy into an art form, she truly has a representation of the last ten thousand years of civilization in a collection of percolators , broken down into Stone Age, Iron Age, Bronze Age, Pyrex Age.

The way my Parents dealt with all of the ups and downs of child rearing and the military lifestyle to this day amaze me, from moving halfway around the world toting cats/skateboards/guitars through customs to building plywood tanks in our backyard so Kevin and I could pretend to blow holes in the neighbors house. That brings me to all the ridiculous things they had to deal with as parents, like the time they went to a squadron picnic and left us in the care of the babysitter that tried on all of my Mom's clothes as we threw eggs at the neighbors, (we grew tired of pretending to blow holes in things) to my "science experiments" that involved dry cleaning bags, nail polish remover and ashtrays from burger king that somehow came together as a hot air balloon that burned holes in the carpet right smack in the middle of the room, leaving me to use the ottoman to cover it up, and upon arrival of my parents and the question "why is this thing here?" I responded "It's always there!" like they were crazy to think otherwise. The carpet burning hot air balloon was inspired years before when I ignited the toilet using the same fuel, the idea of course came from the children's cookbook that had a halloween cake shaped like a ghost with flaming eyes made with eggshell halves filled with sugar cubes and vanilla extract that would burn with an eery glow, I thought that if those would burn good, a toilet full of nail polish remover would burn better. I find it funny that all of this has some logical trail that leads up to illogical carpet burns.
There is more than just genes at work, what my folks have strained to teach me has slowly permeated my thick skull, all of those things that I use everyday that originated from them, for example, when I needed to learn my multiplication tables my Mother had to resort to bribing me with M+Ms, she would sit down with me and a set of flash cards, and each time I would get one right she would give me an M+M, the problem was as still is today, I remember the M+Ms but not the math, but one card sticks in my head, 8*8, she described it in such a way I could never forget it, it was, imagine 8 little 8 year old Beatles singing "When I'm 64" , I use this phrase every-time I multiply 8*8. My Father taught me so much it is hard to give specific examples, my Mother may have the knack for good deals but my Dad has the knack for fixing the "good deals" we bring home. My first violin was a dumpster find, it was put out by our neighbors on junk day and I happened upon it, it was smashed up pretty good but my Dad took the time to glue it back together and make it play, I guess its not just how to fix things, but to understand things, cars, electronics, wood working, the cosmos, my Dad seems to have this Carl Sagan, Winston Churchill, Clint Eastwood thing about him, he could talk about the origins of the stars, politics, economics, and scare the crap out of you with a steely eyed glare if you happen to do something stupid. But the most important thing that I hope to learn from my parents is how to be one, If I could be one eighth of what they are to me I would consider it a success, I have the biggest shoes ever to fill in that department, so much that I seem to call everyday in need of advice regarding a multitude of things, so Mom and Dad if you are reading this, Happy Mother's Day Mom, and Happy Birthday, Dad, I love you.

C.D.