12-09-12

Here's a conversation had with my daughter lately. From her point of view:

My father sat at the kitchen table, a 1942 Infield No. 4 MK1 in his hands.

“This is about the same size as a guitar, Morgan” he says as he strums the barrel like an instrument. “But it plays an entirely different tune.”

            As he continues his monologue about his gun, he informs me that he doesn’t even have ammunition for this gun.

            “We must go out for ammunition for this gun, Morgan. What if something happens and we need it for an emergency?”

            “All the guns you have, you would reach for the one that you don’t have bullets for if you ever actually had to shoot the damn thing.”

            This induces a fit of giggles from my father. No, he’s not drunk. In fact, he informs me that he’s only had three beers today. He’s in withdrawal. It has the same effects.

            “I don’t get why people give feminine names to things.”

            “Speaking of, I named your truck today.”

            “Ralph?”

            “No, Shelby.”

            “Uh! A female name? What?? Did it refuse to start? Did it balk? Did it give you a fight and then say, ‘Well, if I must’?”

            He continues his monologue.

            “Don’t point that gun at me.”

            “Morgan. I’ve stated before that I don’t have bullets in this gun. And you know that I’ve never pointed a gun at you….” He beats the butt of the gun like a drum. “You know, when we went to the NRA convention, we went to eat at Hooter’s and on the walk, there was a guy playing a drum.” He beats the butt some more, “That’s a primitive beat.” More beating. “That’s the Star Spangled Banner.” Pause. “Would you like to hear Beethoven’s Fifth?”

            I type some more.

            “You know, I can continue this monologue with a tennis racket. Or a fly rod, if you prefer.”

            “How do you spell Beethoven?”

            Pause…. “Big B. Excuse me??” Giggles.  “He said that a lot.” More giggles. “That was cruel. I’m sorry Beethoven, where ever you are. Whether you be on a cloud playing a harp or… Well, I guess playing a piano.”

            I read this story back to him.

            “You missed some of it!”

One of my younger daughter's friends was visiting and I noticed her playing with her phone. Next time I looked on the Face Up there was a photo. It was a private moment, and luckily one that was not negative, or nasty or anything. Still, you never know anymore where images of you will end up. It makes me shutter, get the pun, to see young people post photos of themselves in compromising situations. It's easy and makes sense to check the social pages for personal background information when running references for things as diverse as employment to rental applications. It is also now easy to get the latest gossip about who has moved next door. On reflection, social media has now taken the place of water cooler talk at the job, chatting over the back yard fence and listening in on the rural party line. Now, here are two socially safe photos. If you feel they are not, or are offended, please let me know. Oops, couldn't get them downloaded from my socially safe iPad. Will be above later from the old clunker.

Reach out and touch someone