Our Father (and Stepmother) Who Aren't In Heaven

I simply can not wait for a family get together.

Amusing is not enough of a word to describe watching The McMullens, via Henry Jr. and his blushing bride, Clementine. They have a way of communicating, I now understand. She screeches like an owl, bouncing with one hand on her hip and he purses his lips tight enough to turn coal into diamonds.

One particular night earlier this week, I get back from a friendly gathering at a pizzeria hosting a group a new friend belongs to where we sit and pretend to be interested in one another's musings about life. I no longer have the ability to feign interest. I have even noticed that I purse my lips like Henry Jr. when disgusted.

Okay. Picture this: 7PM, dusk. Not quite dark yet. I'm being dropped off at Dad's house and I notice the garage door is open and Clem is inside doing the bounce she can't control between bursts of talking. Dad is walking away to his porch and I'm getting out of the car.

Clem is in this dirty, oily garage, stepping around a huge puddle of oil and dressed like a 13 year old Target model in yellow shoes, white bobby socks, a jean skirt and yellow tee.

Dad was in his Dickies and a t shirt, obviously upset with her and she with him.

"I just came over to help! I'll go back to the house!" she screeches.

Dad replies with, "Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone." And then his cell phone rings. He is the poster child for  Elderly Man in Dire Need of a Hearing Aid. He offers his typical answer after it has rang fifteen times. Upon answering he always puts it on speaker phone so the neighborhood can hear all the business. Not just some of it.

"Hello? Hello?! HELLO?!" as if in a race to say Hello the fastest.

"Get em off speaker phone, Mac! Don't nobody wanna be on speaker phone when they talkin on the phone! Don't ever put me on speaker!" and on and on she went, circling that oily spot shaped like Africa on the garage floor in her pristine yellow Keds.

"Clem will you be quiet!" Dad yelled from the porch as all the neighbors came out pretending to prune garden. That did it for Clem, boy. " Ohhh! Heh. Heh. You wants me quiet now?" and before she could get it out, those bright pristine yellow Keds hit that oil and she skated two feet before clearing the Southern tip of Africa where it was dry and landed smack dab in Central Africa doing the splits.

She rolled in the oil and hollered, "Lawd!"

I turned around and my friends were still there in the car. "She's Pentecostal." I explained.

As I reached the sparring couple, she refused to let Dad help her up and his lips pursed tight enough to crack walnuts. So,her son, Joseph and I did the honors.

I'd honestly not seen slipping and sliding like that since my days spent at White Water.

Some families would consider that drama.

I call it Thursday.