Last night, at the bar I have mentioned before, the one my parents frequented often I was abducted and taken to.
I was relaxing at home, going through my fathers Hoard of Many Things, because the man collected things. Not trash, nor crap, but VERY interesting things. Like the entire Jacques Cousteau encyclopedia set. Of course my dad who dived for fun would own an extensive collection of writings on most known forms of sea life, completely normal, right? Or the entire Robert E. Howard Conan book series, autographed by the man himself. Why the fuck not.
So I was taking notes of everything he owned in case someone not greedy as all fuck wanted something, and my wife tells me we need to go grocery shopping for dinner. I said no, I had a beef pot roast on in the crock pot, which will be done before 6:30. She sly said that there was no pot roast, and I got mad, got up and stormed into the kitchen in a funk because my dad's life before I came into it confused the shit out of me. I pointed to the crock pot, which was empty, not plugged in, and clean. I put alot of effort into that roast, the damned thing was almost thirty bucks. I would not pay 30 dollars for anything that wont last a single night. But it was a fine looking cut of beef.
I am searching the kitchen for it, when everyone and their sister dogpiled on me. I mean it. My oldest daughters, and even my son and his wife were here pinning me down to the floor. I did not get word they were coming. They held me down and put a pillow case over my head, and I felt my sweats being removed. No, this isn't some kinky new sex thing in my house, as I have an intense fear of my head being covered without my permission. I had cousins who would do that to me, just to watch me struggle to get it off.
My arms are pulled out as I am going catatonic, and my shirt is removed. I felt an undershirt being put on me, and my slacks being pulled up.
After they were done, I was carried to the beast, and restrained.
The ride was long and brutal.
But these idiots I love failed to realize I knew where we were going. Its the same path I always took with my wife who was nervous behind the wheel of my monster for no reason SUV.
Soon I heard the familiar crunch of gravel as we slowly pulled in and came to a stop. I was let out, and the pillow case removed from my head.
It was the bar.
Decorated for this occasion. My dad's favorite spot to park his motorcycle had a table with pictures and candles, and a book for the guests to sign. we all signed and entered.
There was food, and all of my dads friends were there, even Sir, whom I thought did not come to the Cola to drink, but apparently he did. Everyone was dressed as nice as can be expected from hard living men and women. My mom and dad's favorite table, right next to the dusty old jukebox that I believe has the entire catalogue of CCR songs known to man on it. The table was done up with pictures of them dating, at the time that you could drink in a bar at 18, and their wedding photos.
Dads spot at the bar was memorialized, as he could "poke" at the waitresses in his friendly playful manner.
The stories I knew, was a drop in the ocean of what I did not know about my father.
We all ate, and drank and remembered my dad. It was touching, until someone played Black Betty, and then it devolved into a rambunctious send off, with keg tosses and burn outs. The bar owner said we broke the record for how long we were good for. My kids learned a whole new side to the fun grandpa who used to slowly pull their little wagons with them in it on his motorcycle, under the two intensely concerned stares of my mother and wife. But he was slow, not even at 1mph. Or the man who dressed as Santa to deliver presents to the children's hospital when my special needs niece with a compromised immune system had to stay over Christmas break because of a really serious case of RSV.
My dad was far from complicated. You would never doubt where you stood with him. If he liked you, he would rib you and mess with you. If he didn't, he would maintain his distance and not mess with you at all.
A funny story shared:
My dad loved my mom.
That was obvious, as when in high school they broke up, he put his arm through a chicken wired glass pane when a jerk thought he could laugh at him and make his move on my momma. But this was ahead a couple of years. Mom was always going back and forth from Mississippi to the Cola/Mobile because her father was sick with cancer. But she was also in college and one night there was a bad storm and she ended up crashing with one of her cousins for the night, who failed to mention to her, that they were leaving in the morning, once the storm passed. My dad lent her his car because he liked riding to work on his motorcycle. So there my mom is, standing outside of her aunts gated and locked house, because in the rush they did not let her get her car. She just had to be on the road early. She was a crying mess. She did not have classes as it was a Saturday, but no one was coming to rescue her.
But Lady Luck must have been in love with my family.
My dad JUST happened to be installing garage doors in the area. Now I called BS on this, but everyone directly involved swears to the truth and substance of this situation. I still doubt it a little, but then again, shit's happened to me where I should not have gotten out of it unscathed too.
My mom was sitting on her suit case crying in the cloudy dawn, and Up drives my dad, with his buddies who also worked with him hanging garage doors. He pulls up next to her, and there is something you need to know about my dad's sense of humor.
He will catch my mom out and about and will approach her like he's trying to pick her up for a romantic date. He would use the corniest lines, or sometimes sneak up on her and whisper stuff in her ear like "Hey baby, wanna come fishing with me, I only got one pole and its all yours to use." Yeah, shit like that.
So he says to her, "Hey college girl, wanna party with us today?" to which everyone said no one has ever been shot the bird as hard as my mom shot him the bird. Ever. I mean you could feel the tension flowing from that one finger salute. But my dad laughed. Then she looked up and realized it really was her Boyfriend in his coveralls, all ready to work.
She explained to him the situation, that his baby was locked in the gate, and wont be free for an entire month. Her relatives were going on an extended vacation, as her mom and siblings were already almost home in Mississippi.
What does my dad do?
He and his crew go to the gas station to make a phone call or two.
Half an hour later
There are ten guys and three ladies taking apart a motorized gate.
Like literally climbing it, getting to the power box, shutting it off, and then dismantling it. And since they did not have the key, they removed the part from the stone brick corner post that the gate secured to.
In one hour, the entire neighborhood of stuffy half assed rich people watched a team of nitwits dismantle what should have been an almost fortress fortified gate.
My dad walks up the driveway, pulls out his keys. Backs the car to the street. Opens the door for mom and as they were just going to leave it as it was, THE SHERIFF shows up.
This man was family, but on my mom's side. He also lived further into this neighborhood. He chewed, spit, wore dark glasses and could intimidate the devil into confessing his crimes, even if he did nothing wrong.
He HATED WITH A FULL MOON BLOODY WEREWOLF'S DINNER PASSION my father, his whole family and even distant relatives related to them.
This man each step would sizzle with the hatred burning within him. He hated poor people, black people, white people, asians too, He was a full blooded native American, raised up with the justified anger at anyone who did not look like him being alive on what was once his peoples land. But he kept it cool and in check, and thats what got him elected in the first place, other than the fact no one else at the time wanted the job.
I personally met him once. Long retired, he and his family showed up to one of those mentioned Christmas get togethers. I liked him alot. He was fun. because he told me stories of cool things. But he passed away when I was in the third grade.
But at this point in the story, he was a fit and healthy forty five year old sheriff of a sleepy little town in the county. And he was pissed.
My dad was a man who even the sheriff would admit was an honest guy. So when he explained what happened there was a tension filled time as he looked over the scene.
"You boys got 1 hour to undo what you did, or everyone here goes to jail."
He called for a deputy or two to come watch this, as there was a manhunt for a copycat serial rapist, who was copying a man who abducted and raped old ladies and young girls, the original was arrested, and sent to prison. No. I would love to lie like that, he was released to the mob of angry families outside of the courthouse that day almost eleven years prior. They found pieces of him all over the wooded and swampy areas. Not really allowed to talk about it as he was listed as a Missing Persons after his rich family lost him. Old southern justice at its finest. But this copy cat was sloppy, committing the crimes and trying to get away while stoned. Got caught and sentenced to life.
Why is this important to the story?
Cause my nine year old mom and her friends lived in the original's hunting grounds and tried to grab them in a package deal. My mom had to testify at the original's trial, but at the time he was still a "Minor" he was going to get off with a slap on the wrist for his heinous crimes. As my mom's friends vouched for the authenticity of the story, along with news paper clippings and the subpoena for my mom to testify. All I know was the dude was alive when he walked out of the courthouse, all smiles and good vibes, and not even a full day later, his dad's car was found abandoned in a Piggly Wiggly parking lot, drops of blood and tire tracks. So I guess the copy cat of this time did not get the memo that there was some form of justice delivered. But my dad knew, and most of the men around that time kept their women and children under watch.
But back to my dad and the nitwits.
It took them just a few minutes shy of an hour to rebuild it. And it had to work. But since the sheriff did have a key to his sister in law's house and gate, he tested it out. It worked, and would continue to work until their granddaughter, my cousin would get drunk, and crash through it during her intervention a couple of decades later.
My dad's boss laughed it off, because the order had not arrived to the site yet, was going to be delayed until after lunch.
My mom hauled ass back to Mississippi, to get more of her things, as she was attending UWF. And her family was moving to the cola to stay.
My dad was ticketed for speeding, as he owned the car my mom sped off in. The sheriff was really rubbing it in, giving my dad a 50 dollar speeding ticket.
That story told last night opened my eyes. But then again, I knew my dad was like that. He would charge into any situation and help in the best way he could, whether it was tackling two vicious dogs attacking me in my life time, the first I was a toddler on halloween, and my dad took me out as an M&M candy, green, she hand made that costume, and a Chow dog jumped me, ripping its claws down my back. I still have the scars, even to this day it looks like a succubus was getting her world rocked by me, and she scratched her nails down my back deep. and the second dog fight was that time with my girlfriend/wife.
He never wanted to be a hero, as he would put it, "All a hero is, is someone stepping up to do what needed to be done." But he was my hero.
But yeah, wanted to share this with you all.
OH OH OH
The proposition was that the bar owner wants to go in on opening another bar elsewhere in the county, and they asked if I was interested.