Hi from the sky, like usual. The unusual is Axel is sitting beside me as we are off on a nine day vacation to the islands in the Pacific where we hope to do nothing but reconnect and relax and just be. The miles and points are a perk of my work travel, so it’s always fun to take him on an adventure and treat him like a rock star every now and then for putting up with my weird life. We packed what seemed like the whole toy chest with us too, which usually means one of will get sick, sunburned, or pissy in that “we jinxed it” sort of way, but we do have the best laid plans to get laid many times.
Anyway, the gist of this one is another parent story. If you have been reading me through the years you will know that I have one of the most sex positive, amazing mothers who never failed to say the right thing when I needed it. Unfortunately, through this blog, you have also seen the decline as she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about three years ago and the disease is now rapidly taking her amazing brain away from us. That’s tough because I miss those incredible talks we would have and I tend to grieve every now and then on Sundays when I get in my “brand new car” (I got it in November but every week she thinks it’s new) on the way home from my weekly, when in town, visits. But yesterday I didn’t grieve at all because I was laughing too hard. If you remember, my mother has said many things over the last few years that have led me to believe that I come from a kinky, somewhat polyamorous couple (the “your Dad always loved a good threeway” Christmas conversation comes to mind) and the disease keeps letting her reveal just a bit too much which makes me laugh yet cringe but always sends my 81 year old father down a path of something that makes him turn white, red, and a bit purple all at the same time.
So yesterday morning when I visited I was met by both of the parents in the driveway as they were just sitting pretending it wasn’t 180 degrees outside. As my Mom marveled over my new car and wondered why the dealership would have delivered it so dirty, my Dad, wearing the famous Nasty Pig hat that he borrowed from my house when I went home and immediately fell in love with the fit (he still has no clue what the NP and pig tail on it means), ushered me into one of this three lawn-care garages to look at his new lawnmower. What I should say is my Dad lives for grass and always has to the point that every other year he gets a new lawnmower that, at points in our lives, was more expensive than the car he was driving. It’s his thing and I love it for him especially because I was never asked to mow the grass when I was a kid as it was 3 acres and he wanted all the fun. It’s like me and German cars. I get it.
So, as he showed off this prize the first thing that hit me is the series or the name of it as my Dad, the Nasty pig wearing elderly apparent kinkster, is now cutting his grass and all the other elderly ladies grasses on his street on a bright orange machine called “The Bad Boy 747cc” with a cut out for the muffler right below the logo saying “HOT”. Now, this is just funny to me in that now every time I see someone cutting grass I will have to wonder if they are a bad boy like my dad, but it didn’t stop there. My mother, who had been somewhere else, wandered in when I was teasing my Dad about his bad boy status and, no longer really aware of many current vibes, heard me call him by that name. I thought we would all laugh, but somewhere deep inside she had a memory or something and looked him square in the eyes and said “you know what we do with bad boys in this house, don’t you _______”. While she could have been meaning he didn’t get his morning cookie, I was wanting to die a bit but, luckily, no more so than he was. Of course, the way the disease works is that she was completely past that moment in an instant and the now awkward conversation quickly changed into how much food to give Stella while we are gone and which plumber he thought we should call for a leak we have.
Never having two sexual bombshells in the same week I think Dad and I (and now my sister who I IMMEDIATELY text when something like this happens as pay back for being mean to me as a child) felt we were safe and just went about doing things in the yard and the garage. He had the new Bad Boy out and wanted to show me something about how it pulled and sent me to the garage to get a length of chain, he was sure was hanging on the wall. I didn’t find it and was about to give up when Mom walked in and asked what I was looking for. I said exactly what I was searching for and without missing a beat she said “Oh, go look under your father’s side of the bed, he used to keep some there”.
That was it. It was all I could stand and after quickly texting my sister again, you know, cause I could, I retreated to the safety of my new car and tried to block my mind of the images, the bold and bright and horrible images, that were swimming in my head.
Later in the day, though, I started smiling about it, as I still am, because regardless of whether these things are true or just something she is making up in her head (like telling me my Dad is making her ride in the very back seat of their van), I do sense that they had a good sexual life together for the last 60 years whether always together or with the occasional guest stars. That makes me proud in many ways, but also I hate they had to hide it, assuming they did.
The funnier thing is wondering how much of who I am now is genetic or environment (the kink, not the gay) or if it’s just happenstance? The Duality part of me I have no doubt was a learned behavior as if they were doing any of what we have mentioned, they did it around the Country Club world we lived in most of the time (unless THAT is where they had their fun….hmmm. All those years I was left in the pool for hours now makes me wonder) and they each had very successful careers that also apparently didn’t interfere.
So, maybe I did learn from them, but do we think kinky genetics are a thing?