About Family....

It is no secret that I have a lot of problems with family. There is a dynamic that emerges within all families that you can never get any other time or place in life. Everyone knows these stories, and most people have several of their own. These are often like caricatures of the annoying neighbour and his nosey wife on reruns of any old sitcom.

But a nice thing about 'family' that everyone can appreciate is the oddball humour that also emerges. Families generate their own in-jokes and can talk about stuff that seems mundane to the naked observer(!), idiosyncracies you have that only come out when family are around make all the difference in how we relate to those close to us. I tend to channel my dead grandparents from time to time, imitating their strange banter. My father pesters our cat, accusing it of 'talkin dirty' when it hisses and growls at him. My mother has her little german-isms, things she says in the Schwabiche dialect that only she can understand. And my sister's patented petnames for us all "How are you, POODLE?!?!"

This morning I dragged myself out of bed and trundled downstairs to the breakfast table just as my dad was closing the washroom door behind him, mum was making coffee. Bleary-eyed, I sat contemplating my placemat when my dad came out of the washroom.
"Don't go in, just dropped a bomb!" he seemed to announce as though to a crowd.
I smiled and waited. Mum brought in the coffee.

"Do you want a piece of toast too, Marky-honey-sweetie-pie?"
"Don't call me that", I muttered, "Yeah sure..."

I waited the requisite 3-4 minutes before getting up to use the toilet. I poked my head in and nearly gagged.
"JEEEEEEEEEEEEESUS, YOU WEREN"T KIDDING!" I gasped
"GOD DAD, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN EATING!!! SKUNK?!?!" my face was contorted with the outburst.
"Why, it's all this HEALTHY food you been makin! THAT's what it is!" he retorted, with a smile, "ROSES! That's nothing but the smell of ROSES!!!" (I had recently re-introduced my parents to the notion of 'salad')
"Yeah", my quick tongue never failed the opportunity, "Roses next to the nuclear power plant up in Pickering!!!"

Enter my mother, a woman cursed with a tendency to want to fix everything, ...
"Oh you two, GAWD! Let me handle this!!!" With that, she took a deep breath and went into the washroom, quickly slamming the door behind her. I imagined her face turning blue. I had no idea what she might be doing to quell the stench. Moments like that really prove what love a mother has for her son.

"I LOVE YOU MOM", I cried out. I don't tend to say it often but she takes it where she can get it.
"There!" she returned unscathed, "Now give it a few minutes to clear out!"
An open window makes all the difference.
"Now, what are you two IMPLYING about me!!!" my father laughed
"Yoy, ish tanem! Allan ...you...?!" Sadly/thankfully, my mother never developed the 'sharp-tongue' gene that my sister and I have been cursed/blessed with.
"Why, you just don't APPRECIATE what real perfume is!" he nearly squealed.
"YOU can go appreciate it!" I interrupted with a smile, "it's not like it's fine art or anything..." I munched my toast and drank the coffee.
"Sugar?" my dad looked around. My mother passed it to him.
"Cream?" My mother passed it to him.
"Butter?" My mother passed it to him. I was smirking the whole time.

I could feel the spirit of my grandfather welling up within me.
"ERMA, WHERE'S THE GREASE!" -- that was his affectionate pseudonym for butter!
"Have we got Lorne here? Is Lorne joining us for breakfast?" My father never failed to get the joke. My mother rolled her eyes.
In my last job, I had to teach countless student about the necessity of using polite phrases and language to make requests and offers. Things like "Have you got any..." and "Could I please have the ...." were essential. At breakfast with my folks, I wondered why I had bothered.

Home is the place where people understand you. It's about shared history really...

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Today, my big job was to start cleaning out my grandfather's workshop.



I was only able to get as far as the scrap metal under his lathe. It took me the better part of the afternoon, but in conversation with my dad I found out something interesting. Packed tighter than a schoolbus full of fat kids en route to a day at the HERSEY'S factory, I asked my father when the last time was that shop had been empty. His answer? 1936!

It was then that I realised the real historical value of the place. Stuff in that workshop hadn't been moved through the 2nd World War, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, it had seen the rise and fall of the poodle skirt, legwarmers, the first moon landing, The Beatles, and Grunge Music. It had been there through the reign of Margaret Thatcher, Mao Tse Dung, Trudeau, and countless world leaders. It had seen the advent of television, cable tv, 8-track tapes, cassette tapes, BETA, VHS, Laser discs, and now it was being cleaned out in the age of DVDs, VCDs, the internet, and finally gay marriage. (WOOOO-HOOOO)

"HEY DAD", I yelled across the yard, "WE SHOULD SELL THIS WHOLE FUCKING THING AS A TIME CAPSULE!"
My dad laughed. He never fails to get the joke.

Though it started to snow late in the day, he didn't stop working. Welding a grain auger out in front of the shop was his job for the day.

Auction sale in less than two weeks...