FatKidsLie

My dad never played a game of golf. This, in of its self, is not that unusual considering he was Jewish and country clubs hate the Jews more than blacks or other minorities because Jews can “pass” and infiltrate the secret societies of the country clubs. While I’m pretty sure that he did play a few rounds of minigolf in his life, my dad did not own a golf ball, let alone a club. Nor did he ever set foot on the grounds of a course or have the slightest interest in the game.

Except once when we were on vacation in Scotland, but that was different. And about 15 years after this story takes place…

You see, my dad may not have been a Gary Palmer or Tiger Woods, but he was an awesome liar. And when my sister, Murm, had a guy come to pick her up for a date who happened to be a semi-pro golfer, well, my dad picked up on that and while knowing NOTHING about the game other than some basic terms at the most he talked to the guy about it. For hours. And hours.

For so long that my sister, who had her heart set on gravy fries and making out in the back seat of his busted Volkswagon beetle; who had spent 3 hours getting ready and shaving her unibrow and moustache, she went back up into her room, with the cracked plaster and Blondie poster, smoked a pack of Pall Malls and drank a bottle of Wild Irish Rose.

By the time my dad was done with his interview/golf-discussion with the boy it was 11pm, my sister had already eaten some leftover lomain that was in the fridge and changed into sweatpants. And was half drunk. The boy had to reschedule the date (which never happened).

My dad’s job was done.

The year was 1990, Summer… I was a dorky looking 10 year old fatboy with a fannypack full of fake plastic frogs and snakes and bugs etc. My friend Andrew called it a “creepypack”. We all had them. It was our “thing”.

Anydangway,

She was this cute little thing, with an awesome haircut. Her big sister did it for her, half went to her sholders the other half was like… almost a buzzcut. She had green and purple streaks in it. And ALWAYS wore mismatching … well… EVERYthing. She was new wave, even though I didn’t know what new wave was then.

We became “good friends” at the barbecue after “tie dye day” at summer camp. She had some ash or smoke in her eye… i had a bottle of water and i was helping her to clean it out. That’s when her boyfriend came over and tried to pound my doughy ass into the ground. Of course she had a boyfriend. There had to be drama.

For, life without drama is CSPAN.

We went rolling down the “Heart Attack Hill” kicking and punching each other. Landed in the lake. The lake isn’t what you think it is. It is where all the latrines empty out into. It’s a septic tank. And we fell in.

She was laughing as the counselors hosed us off, stripped down. Butt-assed-nekkid. Holding our shrinkaged willies. Crying.

I never got a kiss from her. Or felt up her noboobies. Or nuthin.

I did get a black eye. And a tetanus shot. And a wart on my left middle finger.

It was a good summer.

BTW: Sorry for the absence. I’ve been otherwise detained.