Shit My Dad Says

At 19, I was in community college on Yakima, and was still living with my dad.

One day, I walked up to my dad in the kitchen, and hit him with a revelation...

"Dad, you know I've had sex before, right?"

"Well, you're 19. I figured that would happen. I just want to ask you to do two things for me."

"What's that? "

"Firstly, always protect yourself. I'm not just talking about condoms. PROTECT YOURSELF. Women are fucking crazy. Trust me. I've been married and divorced 4 times. Learn from my wisdom."

"And the other thing?"

"Don't ever tell me about it."

Flash forward two years. I'm living on my own, and call up my dad for our weekly bullshitting session.

"Hey, dad. What's going on?"

"Oh, son. Not all that good. I can't have anything but water until midnight, and then can't have anything."

"Why not? What's going on?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you? Tomorrow, I have to go to the doctor to have 2 enemas and a 6 foot anal probe."

<pause>

"Dad, a couple of years ago, we made a deal. I would like to amend that deal. I won't tell you about my sex life, if you don't tell me about what goes in and comes out of your ass. Deal?"

So, that's how we were for years. That is, until he started dating again.

I'll say this. It's pretty intriguing and disgusting to watch a couple of 70 somethings make out in a bar on St. Patrick's day. After witnessing that, my dad felt that it was okay to tell me about his sex life.

So, to get back at him, I'd tell him about the painful shits I would take. And that way we remained until he died. In fact, just before he died, we talked on the phone, and I told him about some problems I was having with my GI system. He gave me some advice on diet and whatnot. Then, he told me about the date he recently went on. I gave him some advice about positions and whatnot.

Miss you, Pops. In Memory of Allen K. Grissom