A GOOD WALK SPOILED*
my dad was an energetic man--when he was younger. he had, really, two families. mike and don were the first family and then there was a gap of 10 years before me and tim. it's hard to raise children, but 4? and 4 boys? in two sets spanning a gap of 10 years? dad was supposedly a taskmaster with the older boys but they took a lot of the fight out of him and he was 10 years older by the time he got to us. age alone mellows you. the effort of getting yourself worked up to be mad and then yelling was just more trouble than it was worth.
dad was not a physically intimidating man. he had male pattern baldness bad. his hairline began just above his ears and he wore big elvis costello glasses. although he was 6' tall, he was skinny. and bony. he was like one of those creatures you see on the discovery channel that has evolved peculiar defense mechanisms, like a foul smell, or squirting a jet of inky fluid. dad's were his elbows. we would play-box, even in adulthood. he had no boxing skills whatsoever. he'd parry our jabs with his bony elbows and we'd jam our hands and wrists on them, which always infuriated us.
so physically he didn't cow you and he had a predictable set of mannerisms when he got mad that caused more mirth than intimidation. he would scrunch up his face and yell out of the corner of his mouth, "holy hell [object of anger]! "holy hell ben, i told you to mow the lawn this morning," like that.
dad's mellowing was accelerated by the invention of the tranquilizer, adavan. i believe he started taking it when mike was in vietnam, cause enough for sure, but his usage outlasted mike's tour, and then the war itself, disco and the cold war. he always took it in moderation but he always took it. we called him "dadavan." his tolerance for aggravation was increased, his "holy hell" trigger harder to pull, his facial expression bemused. i once saw the same look on a somewhat goofily smiling, post-electroshock ernest hemingway.
dad's mellowing was not matched by a dimunition in pranks and juvenalia by his sons however. long into adulthood we were inflicting such as in-face flatulence, forced anus-viewing, throwing cold water on each other in the shower, all the pieces in the sophmore's repertoire. with mike and don when they were younger, these produced "holy hells." later, bemused, post-electroshock face.
after getting out of the navy, don got married and took a job in buffalo, new york. we vacationed there each summer when we were little and mum and dad continued to go there so dan bought a vacation home there.
one summer we all vacationed together for the first time since tim and i were little. i had just graduated from law school and tim was working in the mines back home, so we were about 25 and 23, full adults. dan was an even more "mature," 35 years old.
everyone in the family except me played golf regularly and if they were all going out i'd go along and take a few whiffs to be with them. they all decided to play a round of golf one day at the lake and so we went out. don brought a couple 6-packs along. as we played mum and don's wife chatted and we 4 "men" were constantly goofing on each other, clearing our throats on backswings, mocking each other's muffed shots and the like. really having a good time.
the course was a little hilly sowe rented one golf cart in case somebody got tired, and to store the beer. after they all hit their shots on one hole we started down the fairway which was bordered by slopes on either side. mum and billie sue walked together in the back, dadavan was riding in the golf cart with dan driving and each was drinking a beer. tim and i were walking ahead of the cart.
don began to drive the cart toward tim as if to run him over. tim jumped out of the way. dan chased after him. they settled into a routine a little bit like a bull and a matador. tim would stop and taunt. don would drive toward him and tim jump out of the way at the last minute. then tim began jogging in a zig-zag pattern and don trailed him. don, tim and i were laughing and dad sat cross-legged in the cart holding a beer, mellow hemingway look on his face.
then tim zigged and don zagged. the cart lurched sharply to the left and dad went out the cart to the right. head over tin cups. beer flew, glasses came off. he tumbled a bit down the slope. for a moment we were all mortified. he could have broken his neck. but he jumped up to his feet. and he was pissed.
"HOLY HELL DAN, I'LL DRIVE THAT THING!", he yelled out the side of his mouth. "LOOK, JOAN [mum}, I'M INJURED," and he rolled up his pantleg to show a minor cut on a bony, pale-white shin.
as with all good slapstick, the degree of laughter is directly proportinate to the degree of danger avoided. tim and dan and i were beside ourselves. don rested his head on the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking in laughter. i think tim and i were on the ground. but dad was understandably still a bit shaken up and got more pissed when he saw us laughing. and then mum got pissed and started yelling at us.
don surrendered the wheel to dad and mum got in beside him. don and tim and i got as far ahead of them as we could so they couldn't hear our laughter but it was uncontrollable.
like all good slapstick though, the laughter is uncontrollable
*Credit to John Feinstein and Mark Twain for the title.
