Long-Haired, Freaky People Need Not Apply

Sometimes you want your parents to know what you do in your free time and sometimes you don't because you just know there will be commentary and you will feel compelled to justify whatever it is. I love my dad. I've always been proud of him, but he's definitely a commentator. He's a Republican retired army officer/pilot who thinks everyone just needs to buck up and go to work. I definitely got my work ethic from him. I got my love of music and celebrity from my mom, who is the polar opposite of him. She was a former dancer who loved Mick Jagger, Janis Joplin, and The Doors. When I was 14 she took me with her on a whirlwind weekend trip to the states to see Bon Jovi headline at Giants Stadium (we were living in Germany at the time. Yes, mom was and is a HUGE Bon Jovi fan). When all of us girls would engage in an animated Genglish conversation/chorus in the kitchen you would usually hear my dad, who seemed in a constant search for peace within the house, yell "QUIIIIIEEETTTTTT" from the living room. Dad has never suffered fools much and to him this includes flashy, self-absorbed artist types. My mother, my sister, and I all lived for shows like Solid Gold and movies like Flashdance. We were fascinated by celebrity and drama and obsessed with pop music. My dad loved gardening, peace, Milwaukee's Best (because it was cheap), and Willie Nelson. We loved Olivia Newton John, Andy Gibb, Cher, and the Go Gos. Kind of different. But no matter. My dad learned a long time ago that he would have to be the easy going one in order to survive life in the house. He also realized that he could peacefully protest by dishing out sarcastic commentary. This he and my brother did often when I was growing up. They are still never want for a comment. As expected, I often set myself up. For example, the other night I was sitting in my dad's office using his photo printer to print off pictures from a recent show I had covered. My dad was standing behind me browsing the pictures. I could sense that he was dying to make a comment. When you're in front of the stage you're dependent on the lighting and will end up with several misses. Dad observed how dark some of them were and so I told him that you're not allowed to use flash when you're in front of the stage as it might be distracting to the artists. Of course, as I'm saying all this I begin to regret opening my mouth at all. "Aw, the little darlings" he said.

And there it was. -K