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About Me
- Greasywrench AKA rich b
- I am a sixty-five year old, green-eyed, left-handed, Cherokee, German, Irish, Conservative (Does this make me a minority?) retired heavy-line auto tech living in the South Bay area of Los Angeles Kalifornia. I don't hug trees, eat tofu, bean sprouts, or all the other cliches about Kalifornians. And... I don't drink white wine or spritzers - I drink expensive Glenlivet Scotch and cheap Hiram Walker Brandy. Hollywood doesn't represent any of my values and neither do the Democrats. I am unashamedly patriotic. I support the U.S. Troops wherever they are. I don't believe in blind faith and I question all politicians (Known liars) on both sides of the aisle.
4 comments:
Greasy, am I assuming wrong that this is YOUR father?
Thanks for asking Toast. This was my Dad and he lived a long and full life. He died peacefully in his sleep after a short stay in a rest home.
Well man, I am really sorry.
I am sure that you father was a fine man. Flawed, contradictory and confusing, but still nothing more than a human being and also your father. You have taken from him all that he could teach and all that you could learn. You are Dad 2.0 and he will live on through you.
I am currently taking care of my father, as he did for his, in the final years. In moments of frustration, I try to relive a funny memory or dad teaching us boys a lesson about something important.
Like, when my brother and I were kids, we all went down to "deer camp" to clean up around the the cabins at the end of summer. We cut grass all day and filled a 55 gallon drum with stuff to burn.
Late in the afternoon, Dad decided to light the thing on fire, but we didn't have any mild petrochemicals like lighter fluid to begin the fire. But we did have gallons of unleaded gas. Dad poured about half a gallon into the barrel, then farted around for three or four minutes trying to find something to light it with.
He finally found some matches and from two feet away, when he struck the first and only match, the barrel went off like a mortar bomb, from the fumes apparently. A huge explosion and concussion took place that removed most of Dad's facial hair, obviously much to our amusement!
He was so pissed, but had no idea what to say in his embarrassment. His only words were, "Let this be a lesson to you boys! Don't start a goddamn fire with gasoline!"
And to this day, I've never done so.
So, take your Dad with you, what you learned, his values instilled in you and pass them out liberally. That is the genesis of life: taking the "what was" to help make the "what will be."
Oh shit that's a funny story. You all dodged a bullet. He even managed to turn lemons into lemonade by making it a "lesson" for you.
I could write a book about some of the crap my sisters and brothers AND stepsisters and stepbrothers tried to pull on my Dad. We never managed to get away with shit but we had a blast trying.
My only regret was I didn't spend more time with my Father towards the last few years. I knew he was on the downside of life and like many people I always figured there was more time.
I just hope what lessons I picked up from him I can pass on to my Son. About twenty years ago Mike and The Mechanics did a song called "Living Years" and it surely comes to mind now. My thoughts are all good and thank you for the kind words.
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