When I was a young kid, we went grocery shopping as a family, so that my dad could manage the kids, allowing my mom to accomplish grocery shopping under an hour. As the eldest, it was my job to try to turn the cart over, demand sugary cereals, and completely ignore my baby brother as he was cursed to be born a boy. My brothers helped me in my endeavors. My dad’s main job was to keep us occupied as my mom checked out so that she didn’t have to say, “Don’t touch the candy, don’t touch the candy, don’t touch the candy, no candy, no, no, no.”
My dad would take us over to the magazines, pull one out with Bo Derek, Farah Fawcet, or some other starlet on the cover and ask us who it was. The response was always the same. “MOMMY!” When my dad relates the story to others, he always adds that when he would pick up a picture of Tom Selleck, we would yell “Tom Selleck.” Not quite true, but it makes a great story.
The other day the boys and I were outside playing in my parents’ backyard with my dad, the beloved Papi, when my dad went into his tool room to fix something. Like little puppies, my boys followed their Papi into a room they aren’t allowed to go in, and I followed to keep them in line.
On the walls of the tool room are a couple of girly calendars that my brothers and I love to give my dad to annoy my mom and tease my dad over his little “hobby” of taking pictures of women in bikinis when he’s at the beach. He does this to annoy my mom and exasperate the other women in his life, especially my friends. (Trust me; it’s his way of having fun and training to be a dirty old man, chasing nurses one day in the old folks’ home.) One of these calendars is a “The Girls Next Door” calendar as my family rarely missed an episode, especially my brothers and my dad.
Evan took one look at the picture of Bridget and announced with glee, “GRANDMA!”
Sometimes the apple falls too close to the tree.