My father's Dam Bursts
Tonight at work, my subconscious suddenly reminded me of one of my favorite Far Side strips, I think it was the high school marching band competition groups staying in my hotel.
It’s one of my top 10 of the strips run. Actually, it's fighting with the strip where a group of devils read the suggestion box in hell and laugh maniacally for #1
The illustrated portion of the strip is an angry mob (armed with pitchforks) exiting their building - The Institute for the Study of Migraine Headaches- and marching on their neighbor, “Floyd’s School for Marching Bands.”
The text reads “The dam bursts.”
It’s one of the best jokes I have ever seen.
It’s about the fatality of life, the decibel level of marching bands vs. a preservation of silence, people only being able to love thy neighbor for so long, and the ultimate desire for one’s ideology triumph against natural rivals. When I think of this simple cartoon, it makes me laugh multiple times over the course of the day, sometimes on the same joke level, often on others.
The text is a perfect encapsulation “The dam bursts.” As in, “You know the inevitable? It’s finally happening. Grab your riot gear.”
I thought about this at work today, and a little while later I starting thinking about my father. After a while, the two began to run together.
And I remember one of the funniest memories of my life:
Flashback to spring break of either 1993 or 1994: My sister Kate was tired of going on Skiing trips for the break. She was a dominant presence in the house. She got her way and we went to Phoenix, Arizona for one of the weeks of my school’s break. This was the first or three years we went to the state, and the only solace my father could muster for himself was to also include a trip to the Grand Canyon.
This was in the first few years after my parents divorce. Since my father spent the lesser amount time with us, and because he also had the means to take us on the extravagant vacations, he was the sole parent of the trip for the first few days. To make adjustments to their split and to make us kids feel like we were still a family, my mother joined 4 days in to spend a night at the resort and then join us on the trip to the Grand Canyon.
I must note here that I am positive that this was due to the film Grand Canyon.
The first night there, we all ate dinner together. While I don’t have the strongest of memories about the dinner, I can remember it was in the inside part of the patio restaurant, and my father was struck with egg on his face due to my younger sister Julia (who I call Junior), who had decided the night before to take a Peter Pan jump down from the 6th or higher step of a giant staircase in the hotel and sprained her ankle (I also have to note, that the next year, this exact same thing happened, with my sister Kate).
At dinner we talked about the trip and we as kids were given soft reminders that this was still a family and that my mother and father still stood together when it came to parental rulers. I am sure this was pre-configured and game-planned beforehand between my parents, yet my father’s side was now immensely wounded due to the sprained ankle of my sister, and while it went off on their script, me and my sister Kate didn’t quite get, or buy it, due not so much to the ankle induced rage of my mother, but to the fake quality of it.
After dinner, we were walking down a long corridor which was one of the showpieces of the hotel. It was a dual path walkway of about 300 yards, the middle barrier was filled with shrubberies of the Southland Deserts, and it was one of those immaculate jobs of landscaping that brochure designers drool over. Kate was tossing around a toy or some goofy widget and threw it 30 feet in front of her. I ran after it, I guess in an attempt to hold it for emotional ransom over my sister, and Kate did so for the same reasons (she was Machiavellian in sibling relations).
My parents launched a joined offensive. “Don’t run.”
Three seconds later, without as much as looking at each other, Kate and I took off at full blast to the end of the path, as if we were swimmers chased by sharks in a small pond.
++++
The next day we were headed to the Grand Canyon. My father left earlier in the morning to go get anothe, larger car for the next stage of the vacation, knowing that the Taurus or Corolla we were renting wasn’t going to suffice for the trip.
In my mind, as well as Kate’s, my Mom’s, and probably young Junior’s mind was an SUV. At home we had an Explorer Van reserved almost entirely for long vacations, and were expecting, at the least, an Explorer.
We were waiting in the parking lot when my father found us after his return from the rental car depot. The remaining four of us walked up to a nearby SUV. He quizzically waved us over to a Cadillac.
100 miles on the road, I was the first to speak up.
“I thought you were getting us a bigger car.”
My Father:
“This is a bigger car, it’s the biggest available from the rental shop.”
Kate:
“What about an explorer (these were in the blissful days when an offroad or 4 wheel vehicle were known as such, and before the term SUV entered our vernacular) or a Jeep.”
My Father:
“They don’t rent those.”
Junior:
“They do, I saw someone with one.”
My Father:
“They probably own that.”
Me:
“This is a four door. I mean, what about a van.”
This continued for a while. My mother stayed deathly silent.
Much later, Kate, always the provocateur, echoed what all of us were thinking:
“A van or jeep is bigger.”
The dam bursts.
In one of the most legendary Turner family moments, my father defiantly retorted:
“This is… THE BIGGEST CAR IN AMERICA!!!”
In arguments launched that may actually be true yet have numerous exceptions that can derail the facts of a statement, perhaps only Clinton’s “I did not have sex with that woman” could be proven more fallible even if they are true than that of my father's at that moment.
My father was beaten on every side of debate. My mother was suppressing her laughter to Battle of the Bulge Honorable levels.
In one statement, he had lost the trip. And more importantly, with him going, the parents lost the trip. My mother, wisely moved sides to ambassador, but ultimately found our plight too compelling to maintain the front.
So lost was he that he couldn’t even overcome the classic “I want Taco Bell, but they want McDonalds” argument.
We stopped at Taco Bell first. I think it was in an offshoot ramp of Tucson, and the odds of someone that far from corporate base caring about maintaining the code are slim to none. My father was given such a rough debate about hard vs. soft tacos and then a longer one about hot vs. mild sauce with the clerk and the family, if he had killed us, I am sure the jury would have been sympathetic.
When it came to the McDonalds juncture, he was in emotional chaos. He was ready to be nice and calm until the voice box went out and Junior made it worse by reneging not twice, but five times on her order.
When the voice from the box asked, “So, do you still want that McChicken?” my father let out the most definitive NO I have ever heard in my life. It was angry, but not pissed off, it was short but it resonated for moments after. It was as brilliant of a no as I have ever heard. But since he said this at an order box at a Mcdonalds , I burst out laughing. The rest of the car joined in, my mother as loud as anyone else.
Yet moments later, it was my Mother who calmed the car and came to her former husband’s side. She came to her senses as a mother and decreed, “Of the cars on the road today, this is the biggest sedan, and technically car, available. Sure a van or a 4x4 is bigger, but as a car, this is the largest option available.” She even went as far as to invoke motherly shame with, “you should be so privileged your father could afford to rent a car like this, imagine this trip in the car you had before I got here.”
She had saved the day for my father. And she stopped any further jokes at his expense and/or about the car for the remainder of the trip. We knew the joke was not to be mentioned again.
A year and a half later, we were on vacation in Colorado over MLK weekend. My mother was once again along. The car my father had rented was an Explorer, and when we arrived at the hotel garage, Junior remarked, “Dad, I like this car. This is my favorite car we have ever rented.”
I looked at my mother, who was carrying bags along side of me, and I said, loudly enough to be heard by all, “Well, it's certainly not the biggest!”
It’s one of my top 10 of the strips run. Actually, it's fighting with the strip where a group of devils read the suggestion box in hell and laugh maniacally for #1
The illustrated portion of the strip is an angry mob (armed with pitchforks) exiting their building - The Institute for the Study of Migraine Headaches- and marching on their neighbor, “Floyd’s School for Marching Bands.”
The text reads “The dam bursts.”
It’s one of the best jokes I have ever seen.
It’s about the fatality of life, the decibel level of marching bands vs. a preservation of silence, people only being able to love thy neighbor for so long, and the ultimate desire for one’s ideology triumph against natural rivals. When I think of this simple cartoon, it makes me laugh multiple times over the course of the day, sometimes on the same joke level, often on others.
The text is a perfect encapsulation “The dam bursts.” As in, “You know the inevitable? It’s finally happening. Grab your riot gear.”
I thought about this at work today, and a little while later I starting thinking about my father. After a while, the two began to run together.
And I remember one of the funniest memories of my life:
Flashback to spring break of either 1993 or 1994: My sister Kate was tired of going on Skiing trips for the break. She was a dominant presence in the house. She got her way and we went to Phoenix, Arizona for one of the weeks of my school’s break. This was the first or three years we went to the state, and the only solace my father could muster for himself was to also include a trip to the Grand Canyon.
This was in the first few years after my parents divorce. Since my father spent the lesser amount time with us, and because he also had the means to take us on the extravagant vacations, he was the sole parent of the trip for the first few days. To make adjustments to their split and to make us kids feel like we were still a family, my mother joined 4 days in to spend a night at the resort and then join us on the trip to the Grand Canyon.
I must note here that I am positive that this was due to the film Grand Canyon.
The first night there, we all ate dinner together. While I don’t have the strongest of memories about the dinner, I can remember it was in the inside part of the patio restaurant, and my father was struck with egg on his face due to my younger sister Julia (who I call Junior), who had decided the night before to take a Peter Pan jump down from the 6th or higher step of a giant staircase in the hotel and sprained her ankle (I also have to note, that the next year, this exact same thing happened, with my sister Kate).
At dinner we talked about the trip and we as kids were given soft reminders that this was still a family and that my mother and father still stood together when it came to parental rulers. I am sure this was pre-configured and game-planned beforehand between my parents, yet my father’s side was now immensely wounded due to the sprained ankle of my sister, and while it went off on their script, me and my sister Kate didn’t quite get, or buy it, due not so much to the ankle induced rage of my mother, but to the fake quality of it.
After dinner, we were walking down a long corridor which was one of the showpieces of the hotel. It was a dual path walkway of about 300 yards, the middle barrier was filled with shrubberies of the Southland Deserts, and it was one of those immaculate jobs of landscaping that brochure designers drool over. Kate was tossing around a toy or some goofy widget and threw it 30 feet in front of her. I ran after it, I guess in an attempt to hold it for emotional ransom over my sister, and Kate did so for the same reasons (she was Machiavellian in sibling relations).
My parents launched a joined offensive. “Don’t run.”
Three seconds later, without as much as looking at each other, Kate and I took off at full blast to the end of the path, as if we were swimmers chased by sharks in a small pond.
++++
The next day we were headed to the Grand Canyon. My father left earlier in the morning to go get anothe, larger car for the next stage of the vacation, knowing that the Taurus or Corolla we were renting wasn’t going to suffice for the trip.
In my mind, as well as Kate’s, my Mom’s, and probably young Junior’s mind was an SUV. At home we had an Explorer Van reserved almost entirely for long vacations, and were expecting, at the least, an Explorer.
We were waiting in the parking lot when my father found us after his return from the rental car depot. The remaining four of us walked up to a nearby SUV. He quizzically waved us over to a Cadillac.
100 miles on the road, I was the first to speak up.
“I thought you were getting us a bigger car.”
My Father:
“This is a bigger car, it’s the biggest available from the rental shop.”
Kate:
“What about an explorer (these were in the blissful days when an offroad or 4 wheel vehicle were known as such, and before the term SUV entered our vernacular) or a Jeep.”
My Father:
“They don’t rent those.”
Junior:
“They do, I saw someone with one.”
My Father:
“They probably own that.”
Me:
“This is a four door. I mean, what about a van.”
This continued for a while. My mother stayed deathly silent.
Much later, Kate, always the provocateur, echoed what all of us were thinking:
“A van or jeep is bigger.”
The dam bursts.
In one of the most legendary Turner family moments, my father defiantly retorted:
“This is… THE BIGGEST CAR IN AMERICA!!!”
In arguments launched that may actually be true yet have numerous exceptions that can derail the facts of a statement, perhaps only Clinton’s “I did not have sex with that woman” could be proven more fallible even if they are true than that of my father's at that moment.
My father was beaten on every side of debate. My mother was suppressing her laughter to Battle of the Bulge Honorable levels.
In one statement, he had lost the trip. And more importantly, with him going, the parents lost the trip. My mother, wisely moved sides to ambassador, but ultimately found our plight too compelling to maintain the front.
So lost was he that he couldn’t even overcome the classic “I want Taco Bell, but they want McDonalds” argument.
We stopped at Taco Bell first. I think it was in an offshoot ramp of Tucson, and the odds of someone that far from corporate base caring about maintaining the code are slim to none. My father was given such a rough debate about hard vs. soft tacos and then a longer one about hot vs. mild sauce with the clerk and the family, if he had killed us, I am sure the jury would have been sympathetic.
When it came to the McDonalds juncture, he was in emotional chaos. He was ready to be nice and calm until the voice box went out and Junior made it worse by reneging not twice, but five times on her order.
When the voice from the box asked, “So, do you still want that McChicken?” my father let out the most definitive NO I have ever heard in my life. It was angry, but not pissed off, it was short but it resonated for moments after. It was as brilliant of a no as I have ever heard. But since he said this at an order box at a Mcdonalds , I burst out laughing. The rest of the car joined in, my mother as loud as anyone else.
Yet moments later, it was my Mother who calmed the car and came to her former husband’s side. She came to her senses as a mother and decreed, “Of the cars on the road today, this is the biggest sedan, and technically car, available. Sure a van or a 4x4 is bigger, but as a car, this is the largest option available.” She even went as far as to invoke motherly shame with, “you should be so privileged your father could afford to rent a car like this, imagine this trip in the car you had before I got here.”
She had saved the day for my father. And she stopped any further jokes at his expense and/or about the car for the remainder of the trip. We knew the joke was not to be mentioned again.
A year and a half later, we were on vacation in Colorado over MLK weekend. My mother was once again along. The car my father had rented was an Explorer, and when we arrived at the hotel garage, Junior remarked, “Dad, I like this car. This is my favorite car we have ever rented.”
I looked at my mother, who was carrying bags along side of me, and I said, loudly enough to be heard by all, “Well, it's certainly not the biggest!”
posted by Indiana at
3:56 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home