This story actually has nothing to do with Christmas, but I heard it today (near Christmas) so now it’s a Christmas Story to me.
Title: My Dad’s Version of the Demise of His Marriage to My Mom.
Today is Sunday. I called my Dad for our weekly one-hour shout-versation. We always start off bashing Obama. I used to hate this part. But I am so revolted by the “affordable reform” tax-or-imprison/screw the little guy/jump in the sack with Big Insurance and Big Pharma/and watch those insurance premiums soar! Health Care Bill, I am a willing participant.
My Dad used to say he was going to pass away within the next six months. Now he says he has to last until 2012 so he can make sure Obama doesn’t get re-elected. I told him I would be right there with him!
[Note: to POTUS: A B+? I don’t which is more inflated: your self-awarded grade or your multitudinous hubris?]
Back to my Dad’s Story:
We chatted about Tiger, of course. Tiger grew up in Anaheim (near us in Garden Grove). My Dad ran into Earl Woods several times on various golf courses. My Dad said Earl talked about his son’s golfing prowess since toddlerhood.
My Dad and I discussed a possible “Todd Marinovich Syndrome” that Tiger may have, which may explain not just “infidelity,” but his way over-the-top whoring around without regard to consequence.
(Remember, my Dad, to a lesser degree, is like a pot calling the kettle black. Is that the correct phrase? See my blog: “The Meaning of Golf Clubs” —dated 12/05/09— for background on this subject.)
We think Tiger’s Dad was too overbearing in pushing Tiger to excel at golf. This may have stunted Tiger’s “normal development” and prevented the bad behavior/mistakes young people make—and learn from—on their way to adulthood. In other words, Tiger’s Dad screwed him up! (I think the wife should bolt. My Dad thinks she should stay.)
Then, because the subject was about cheating in a marriage, my Dad must have been reminiscing to himself, as he said, “I don’t know what happened with your mother and me. I never understood that…”
HUH?
My Dad told me he met my Mom at a dance in West Virginia. He said she was there with a pack of girlfriends, who were also pretty, but dumb. He said my Mom stood out because she was smart.
Later my Dad told her that he wanted to date her, but he didn’t like her smoking. She promised to quit. She didn’t.
My Dad joined the Army Air Force and was sent to radio school. He became an air traffic controller in Taft, CA. When WWII came calling, he was upgraded to bombardier of a B-25. He flew 30+ missions. My Mom attended Beauty School.
After the war, my Dad asked my Mom to move to Long Beach, CA to be with him—if she stopped smoking. She promised to quit. She didn’t.
My Mom wanted to get married. My Dad said sure, if you quit smoking. My Mom promised she would. She didn’t.
My Dad went to dental school on the G.I. bill. My Mom worked as a beautician and smoked with her girlfriends.
My Mom got pregnant and had a miscarriage. My Dad told her it was because of the smoking. She promised to quit. She didn’t.
She had three more pregnancies. My Dad told her to quit smoking. She promised, but smoked (and drank) through her pregnancies. She had three C-sections. (Smoking related?)
My Dad intimated that he “lost interest” because he couldn’t take the smoking, which my Mom tried to hide and then lied about.
My Dad must have said to me a half-dozen times in this conversation, “She broke her promises.” He sounded really sad when he said it.
My Dad said they fought over his “stepping out” and her smoking. He said that if she’d quit, he’d quit.
My Mom filed for divorce.
A family with three small children was RUINED over cigarettes? That’s pitiful.
I explained my Mom’s flawed psychology to my Dad, which he had no clue about, such as being raised by an A-hole “girls are worthless” father.
I shall save that depressing story for another blog.
My Dad told me a story about my Mom stealing her girlfriend’s new coat. (I never heard that one before.) I tried to interpret her behavior for him, through the prism of her childhood-instilled low self-esteem and resulting anger.
Stay tuned for yet another depressing story.
And on that joyous note, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
Moral of the Story: To avoid bad cheer at Christmas, avoid your relatives!
