Well the summer days are softening now. There will still be some scorcher days, but not the killing heat we have been seeing. It’s a refreshing cool at night that makes you want to sit out on the deck with a beverage or a snack and take stock of things.
When I was a kid we had family BBQs like that one in the last pic, minus the guns. But Gramma and Grampa would have been there. As a small boy I never understood the friction between Pop and them. Pop would speak only when spoken to. When the grandparents spoke to him - you could see they measured their words first. They did not like each other, now that I think of it. Were family occasions about making a point of getting along …. ? Like an unpleasant chore? Today I idly day dream about firing my old folks out of a cannon, and the kids plot seriously about smothering me with a pillow. Maybe there was always this friction between generations? The generation gap is turning into generation war. We might all want to have a care; little eyes are watching us and eventually they will act on what they see and possibly imitate us.
We don’t do family BBQs anymore. Nobody on my street does it either. Is it because their families are all just as messed up as mine? People are often busy these days too… maybe they can’t make the time? Or maybe they don’t want to? Ol’ Pete made a great comment about unity yesterday, and how we’re all growing further and further apart. We aren’t coming back together again either. We are going to hang separately I guess.
Gah! The Monday chores beckon. I gotta go to little Jimmy R’s to help him practice his smothering lessons. Then after that I gotta go pick up some lead solvents for when I fire mom and dad out of the canon… might as well give the bore a bit of a scrub on the way out, right? HAR HAR HAR!
Have a great Monday, don’t start any fights ya don’t need to… and thanks for dropping in.
My dad was next to youngest, we went to visit grandmother (non-negotiable title) during an election year (McGovern Nixon?) four hours away. Dad was a peace officer, every one of his siblings was in education. Within 20 minutes of arriving, loud voices from the kitchen, and all our cousins, aunts and uncles packed up and drove off. I know what you mean about measured words. After that most interesting visit, every conversation was measured. He never was like them or really accepted by them. Tough to watch, but now, easy to understand.ReplyDelete
I would have paid serious money to sit and listen to your peace officer father for an afternoon. I'm betting I'd get my money's worth!Delete
Two books that will open your eyes to exactly what he did. Written by a Houston PD officer at the same time as dad. Houston was wild west compared to Lubbock, but not by statistics. We had a murder rate per capita like any other big city.Delete
Those books are eye opening. I heard the same phrases, the same mentality, Put my dad's name in there, and it fits perfectly. Those were the soft days of bombings by the weathermen, the helter skelter killings, and major cities burning. I remember that clearly. We were near the spears head, and as valid a target to those marxist clowns as anyone. It was different back then. Way rougher...
Thanks for reminding me, I have to get lead remover. Great blog.ReplyDelete
Oh yeah, the good old family dinner. Take a small group of people who could remain civil to each other for one hour, tops, then add hot weather without A/C and a nice dose of alcohol. See what happens.ReplyDelete
As hard as he was to get along with, my grandfather was intelligent, well-read, and kept himself up to date on the latest political scandal. Any liberal (there were a few) that tried to argue with him was ignored. Should the moon-bat persist, grandfather would resort to quoting facts and history with a certainty that would cause the moonbat in question to spit out both feet and sulk.
Then my father would serve another round of cocktails, and believe me when I say that the old man could really pour a drink.