Father Son Bonding Time

    “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said into the cell phone, trying to be my usual cheerful, jovial self.  Oddly, it didn’t elicit the chuckle I was hoping for.  Well, the reaction to that phrase doesn't really cause mirth, anymore, but I keep trying it.  I was having a difficult time being cheerful or jovial; my stomach was revolting at the sight and smell of the scrambled eggs, sausage, and greasy potatoes on the plate in front of me.  I was having a bit of a hard time with the coffee also.  The dry toast didn’t look too bad though.  I had a bit of a headache.

    “It doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, anytime.”  I could not detect much, if any, compassion in her voice.  “How much did it cost?”

    I was dreading this question for two reasons.  First I didn’t know what the damage was, and I was really hoping to determine the cost before the Visa bill arrived, but I suspected that might not be possible.  Second I didn’t want my wife to know that I didn’t know.  “Well I am not really sure," I mumbled into the phone.  This was the second time we had spoken to each other in the last eight hours; it was 10:00 am.  I didn’t have much recollection of our previous conversation at 2:00 am, or thereabouts.  Roughly closing time, I would guess.  “I’ll try and find out honey,” I said, I think.

    “Well, yes, perhaps that might be a good idea dear.”  She was speaking slowly and distinctly, not a very good sign for me.  For the first time in six weeks I was kind of glad I was one thousand miles away.  “I will speak with you later dear,” she said cutting our connection.  Two ‘dears’ in the same conversation, this was not good.

    I looked across the table, a lighter shade of pale, at our daughter.  She looked rather smug sitting there, all not, hung-over or anything.  “This is entirely your brother’s fault you know?” I said, grasping for any dignity I could find.  I couldn’t find much, I couldn’t find any actually.

    “Yeah I am sure it is Dad.  You want some ketchup with those potatoes?” she asked passing bottle to me, smiling sweetly.

    I must have turned another lighter shade of pale as she laughed, not trying to conceal her amusement in the least.  I picked up the black coffee before me and brought it to my lips, looking forward to the distinctive taste and aroma.  My stomach turned over.  Thinking better of the coffee I delicately placed it back on the table.  Gently I cradled my head in my hands, I am pretty sure it was still attached to my body.

    “So, tell me Father Dear, exactly what happened last night?”  Her green eyes twinkling in amusement.  Across the table from me she inserted a large bite of potatoes into her mouth, I closed my eyes.

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    I had accepted an assignment that would keep me away from home for most of the summer.  About one thousand miles from home, the deciding factor was that I would be near the University of Oregon where both our children are students.  It was a difficult decision because I love my wife and we enjoy being together, and since both our children are living away from home now, home is a very pleasant place.

    My wife and I both felt this was a good opportunity for me to repair some of the damage I had caused our children during their developmental years.  So off I went to fix the damage I had caused over the past twenty five years.  I was supposed to work also.

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    Actually it was both their faults, I had not been able to contact Cami, so I was going to have dinner with our son, Brendan.  In reality, I was glad that it would be just the two of us.  There were a few things I wanted to talk to him about that did not involve his sister, bits of fatherly advice that somehow I had neglected to share with him over the years, the odd apology, that sort of thing.  Brendan’s fiancée, Katie, was out of town for the weekend so it was her fault also.  No one was there to supervise us.

    I arrived at Brendan’s house late Saturday afternoon.  We talked baseball and rugby for awhile and went for pizza and beer for dinner.  Being a college town he knew of a great pizza place that was inexpensive.  A meat lover’s pizza, two pitchers of beer, and some very productive, and bonding type conversation later we, decided to leave.  As we were leaving Brendan said, “Hey Dad, ya wanna’ have another beer?  There’s a bar downstairs.”

    Now, this is pretty much where the night started to go bad.  Without thinking, which is a really bad habit of mine, I said “sure.”

    So in we went, to ‘Pete’s Deep 86 Dive Bar’ or some such similarly appropriate name.  The indoor outdoor carpeting was a very nice touch, and went well with the dusty and torn tropical travel posters on the walls.  We pulled up a couple of chromed barstools with ripped vinyl seat covers to the stained near-vacant bar (it was summer, a college town).  I ordered a couple of IPA's and gave my Visa card to the bartender, who evidently, it turns out, is a nice guy, that’s what I am told anyway.  I asked him to keep the tab open, again with the not thinking thing.

    I am convinced that Brendan was waiting for just this moment because he then asked, “Is it okay if I call Joey and some of the guys to meet us down here?”  Now, this is really where I should have known better because Joey and the guys are all team mates that play for U of O.  Being an ex-rugger myself, and much older, more about that later, I was well aware of how quickly this sort of thing can get out of hand.

    Without thinking, I know damn-it, I said “sure.”  Then I ordered a couple of ‘bad habits’ to further bond with my son before the club arrived.  A ‘bad habit,’ is a shot of chilled vodka floated with peach schnapps.  It tastes like a popsicle and is called a ‘bad habit’ for obvious reasons, to me anyway.  I have plenty of other bad habits but we are not going to discuss those; we're just going to focus on this bad habit for now.  Well one led to two and so forth, and then there was no more peach schnapps.  So the bartender started experimenting, looking for a suitable substitute.  Some one had to taste test all this, in the interests of quality control of course.

    Well Joey and his fiancé Mika arrived, suddenly we were at a table with a couple of pitchers of beer and a round of brain hemorrhages.  Then we were at several tables as more of the club, girlfriends and fiancées arrived.  Word travels fast when someone’s father is in a bonding type mood and purchasing alcohol.  I more or less lost track of people and time; in addition to what I was consuming.  Now this isn’t really funny and should never be attempted at home by amateurs, and most definitely not an old amateur.  Everyone was having a rollicking good time and then some idiot, and I strongly suspect my wife’s son here, because he has done this before and finds immense pleasure in watching old guys get hammered, ordered a round of ‘Irish car bombs.’

    Now don’t get me wrong, I like ‘Irish car bombs’ as much as the next guy, they finish like chocolate milk, what could be better than that?  However, I am well aware of my limits.  I just wasn’t paying attention to my limit this particular evening.  I was way past my limit, my teeth were numb and that is always a good indication that it is time to stop.  So without thinking, I know, I know, I dropped that shot of Irish whiskey and Bailey’s Irish Cream into the pint of Guinness and slammed it down.

    I was immediately and without doubt reminded exactly what my limit was.  I sat at the table and tried to focus, as hard as I could I focused, but there was not a single door leading out of the bar.  I contemplated this for a moment, I thought, I focused, I gathered all the logic and intelligence at my command (this may have been part of the problem), I came to the stunning conclusion, quite brilliant when you think about it, that I had come into the bar, and if I had come in then at one time I was outside the bar, and therefore to enter the bar I must have come through an opening somewhere.  Brilliant, again I collected all my capabilities and senses in an attempt to discover a way out of this establishment, alas there was none.  It was becoming clear to me that I needed to be outside and rather quickly.

    So I stood up and looked around the table, actually I may not have been standing; things were a bit hazy at this point.  Brendan was not among the people at the table, I did recognize most of them however. 

    So I said “Brendan?”

    Joey, at my side said, “What do you need John?”

      “Where is Brendan?  I need him for a minute,” I said to Joey.  Joey is a good guy, for a back, and immediately found Brendan.  He was sitting on the other side of me.

    “Brendan” I said, “I need to get out of here, you guys stay and have a good time, all you have to do is take me out and lay me in the back of the truck, then you can come back in and have fun.”

    He looked at me, I think, and said, “You sure, we can just go home now if you want?”

    “No, no” I said without thinking. Now, in my defense I don’t think I was really capable of thought at that particular moment as, I needed out and I needed out in a hurry.  “Just get me out and you guys have fun.”

    Now I am pretty sure at this point a dutiful son would have recognized his father’s distress and said ‘no I’ll take you home now.’  That is not what Brendan said, in true rugger form he said, “Okay.”  He then proceeded to steer me towards a door that had magically appeared before us. Up the stairs and into the parking lot we went.  I knew if I could just lie down everything would be fine.

    It turned out the truck was about eight steps too far.  I lost all the pizza and assorted beverages I'd had that evening, and everything I had consumed in the past three days, or so.  My son is really a good guy; he held me up and said, “Dad I am just going to take you home okay?”

    Now the old brain kicked into high gear and I was thinking very clearly.  John, I said to myself, you can’t expect them to stop the party just for one old guy.  I mean, how embarrassing for Brendan to have to quit because his dad couldn’t keep up.  So for my son’s dignity I said, “No, that’s okay, I’ve already tossed everything and everybody's having a good time, just help me into the back of the truck and go have a good time.”

    I am not sure how but he got me into the bed of the truck, but he did.  I decided a short nap was in order and slept for a bit.  The next thing I knew Brendan was shaking my shoulder and saying “Dad, Dad, wake up.”

    “Snort, huh?  What are you doing, whatta ya want?”

    “Roll over Dad, just rollover”

    “Okay, why?” I slurred as I attempted to roll over.

    “We don’t want you to choke on your vomit”

    That’s my son, always looking out for his old dad I thought.  I napped a bit more.

    The next thing I knew Avery, the hooker (note here, hooker is a position in rugby, not an occupation, I just want to make that clear) was sitting in the truck with me and we were involved in a deep conversation concerning the French Revolution, of which I know nothing.  We wrapped up our discussion concerning the origins of the French revolution and he exited the truck bed taking one of my most important tools with him.  I yelled and hollered that I needed that back but Avery seemed not to hear.  I could not quite figure out how to get out of the bed of my truck.  I took another nap.

    I awoke sometime later quite refreshed but freezing my butt off, so to speak.  I laid in the truck for a bit deciding on a course of action.  I managed to exit the bed of the truck and stumbled about the parking lot for a minute in hopes of finding my flip-flops as the pavement was cold and damp.  Just as I was going to head into the bar so my son could take me to his house everyone came streaming out the bar.  It was time to go home.  There were some difficulties here however.

    The scrum-half and his girlfriend had arrived late and were the only two present capable of driving.  There were a few problems with this.  One being that there were considerably more people than vehicles present; another being neither of them could speak much English. A third difficulty and as time wore on a seemingly insurmountable problem, was that everyone was under the impression that they were to arrange transportation to somewhere for everyone.  While the topic of getting home was pursued I found Avery and told him I needed the tool back, the probe.  Much to my surprise Avery was intoxicated and of very little use.  I was getting nowhere in pursuit of the probe.

    Exasperated, I loudly proclaimed that I needed my probe for work.  Everyone assured me it was in the back of the truck, but I was adamant that it was not and come Monday I was going to need it.

    Being the eldest present, and them being the good young men and women they are someone said, “Okay, what does you probe look like Mr. H,” obviously one of the younger guys that I did not know, he was quite the wit it turns out.

    I started, “It’s a rod about 3/8 of an inch in diameter…” as soon as the words were out I realized that I had made a terrible blunder.

    “Woo hoo Mr. H, your rod is 3/8 inch diameter…”

    “Whoa, Brendan so that’s what happened to you huh?”

    Much fun and merriment ensued.  I decided to suffer the consequences of another lost probe Monday.

    All hope of getting to bed before sunrise seemed lost.  I was freezing, I could not find my shoes and I could not walk to Brendan’s because I couldn’t find it even in the light if I were sober.  So I passed the ball, so to speak.

    I called my wife at whatever ungodly hour it was, and woke her up.  “Listen honey,” I slurred “we are outside some bar, I don’t know how to get home, I can’t find my shoes and I am freezing, call your son and tell him to take me home.”

    “Well can he drive?”  She sensibly asked.

    I looked for Brendan but couldn’t find him.  “I doubt it.”

    “Well to begin with he is our son, John.  How do you propose the two of you are going to get home?”

    I was holding a shovel and digging, the hole was getting deeper.  There was no one to take the shovel away from me.  “Umm, Konta and his girlfriend can drive.”

    There was a moment or two of silence then a deep sigh.  “You two, how many of the team are there?”

    “Well, um, probably everyone in town and their fiancée or girlfriend.”  I was still digging.

    “I suppose we are paying for this?”

    Damn this hole was deep, I was getting blisters from digging, “uh, yeah I guess.”

    “You guess?  Do you know where the credit card is?”

    I couldn’t even see the top of the hole any more.  “Uh, well, um, yeah I think I know where it might be, maybe.”  Somebody was throwing dirt back in the hole, unaware that I was still in the hole.

    “Yeah, well babe you might want to track that down, I’ll call Brendan”

    “Thank you honey, I’ll call you tomorrow,” I slurred into the phone.

    Since it was my truck I got to ride in front.  As Brendan and Joey were pouring me in I asked where the Visa card was.

    “Oh yeah, here it is,” said Joey as he handed it to me.

    Oh crap I thought this is going to be bad, “how much?”

    “I don’t know” Brendan answered, “I lost the receipt or something.”

    I didn’t say anything.  What was left?  What could I possibly say?  I had done this all by myself as the responsible adult.

    “It’s okay John,” said Joey “we’ve got you covered.”

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    We were at an outdoor café and people were watching Cami with what looked like pity in their eyes.  They were looking at me with some, well, disgust I suppose.  She was laughing with great delight.  Enjoying my discomfort, it’s amazing how quickly a guy’s previously loving daughter will turn on him.  “I’d say you are in a little trouble Daddy-poo.”  She knows I hate it when she calls me that.

    “Did you get your probe back?”

    “No, and there is going to be hell to pay,” I replied.  “It’s the third one I’ve lost in the last couple of months.”  I really was wishing someone would remove the plate of potatoes from before me.  I wasn’t doing so well.

    “Well where were you?  Maybe we can find it?”

    She’s a good daughter, “Um, I don’t really know, it was good pizza and it may have started with a ‘P’, I think, maybe. And there is a bar beneath the pizza place.”

    “Maybe you think or maybe it started with a ‘P’?” she is quite the card, very funny my wife’s daughter.

    “The ‘P’ part I think, listen kid, I’m not really up to this, can you help or not?”  I asked.

    Man my wife’s daughter looks just like her mother when she’s disgusted with me, “Pegasus Pizza?” 

    “Yeah, that’s it, I am pretty sure, maybe,” I replied.

    She led me to Pegasus Pizza and the bar below it, I’ve blocked the bar’s name from my consciousness.  There, leaning against the wall of the bar was my probe.  My daughter is really a good kid.

    There is nothing that will bond a father and son together quicker than being in trouble at the same time for the same thing.  Neither my wife nor his fiancé were happy with us, and I can’t figure out why.  The Visa bill for the evening wasn’t quite four digits.