So the other day I had lunch with my dad and he asked me why I never talk about his side of the family. Because his family DOES offer a lot in the material department. But I told him I really don’t feel comfortable bagging his side of the family. I only feel OK doing that to my husband and kids.
Call me a sensitive softy.
And he then proceeded to tell me stories about *parts* of his family that made me rethink my whole *sensitive* side.
So here goes, Dad.
My dad has 3 brothers. And he is the youngest. Some might argue that that would make him the favorite. Instead I would say he’s lucky he got out alive. And somewhat normal (whatever that means).
His oldest brother is named Darrell.
And Darrell is what you might call…hmm….what’s the word…………..um…………..interesting.
You know how when you’re joking with someone and he/she might say something strange or act bizarre and you ask if he/she was dropped on his/her head when he/she was a baby? And you’re serious but he/she laughs and thinks you’re joking?
But you’re not?
Well, my uncle Darrell thinks you’re talking about blue pancakes.
Like. For serious.
I imagine the conversation my grandparents had with the doctor when he was younger. They take him to see a specialist because he’s “different” and the doctor sits them down in his office and points to the x-ray and says, “You see this black space where the other half of his brain should be?” and they’re all, “OHHHHH. Well, that explains a lot.”
Yeah. That’s Darrell.
And I only tell you this because I feel it’s important that you know where I come from. You know, for those days you don’t quite “get” where I’m coming from. Yes. I’m looking for someone to blame.
So I totally blame Uncle Darrell.
In fact, when I was growing up my step mom would tease us and say, “Well at least I don’t have DGs (Darrell’s Genes). I would be so offended and horrified that I would start crying. Because there was no denying it. I’ve totally got the DGs.
A few years ago my Uncle Darrell was in a car accident. And crazily enough, it wasn’t his fault. He was hurt and received a somewhat large settlement. And because he is “interesting” my family was afraid for him to have access to that kind of money, so they asked my dad to be in charge of it.
Lucky him.
Uncle Darrell has lived with my grandparents for most of his life. Except for those times he’d meet a woman at the bowling alley and marry her after only knowing her for 30 minutes (I think he’s been married 7 times). During his *marriages* he’d move in with the lucky gal, giving my grandparents a much needed mini vacation. And then just as soon as they would get used to Life Without Darrell, he’d find his way on their doorstep again, claiming the woman was a nutjob. My grandparents would sigh heavily and unbolt the door.
It’s not like Uncle Darrell is retarded or anything. No. That would be an insult to retarded people. He’s just bizarrely unaware of reality beyond preschool. I mean, the man still eats crayons. But only the brown ones. And I *may* or *may not* be exaggerating. But dammit, everything tastes better with Tabasco.
So. After the car accident/settlement he was given a monthly allowance. And was told that any money given after that would be on an “emergency” basis. Needless to say there have been a lot of “emergencies.” Emergency bowling ball. Emergency overalls. Emergency pen that writes upside down. Once, he called my dad and when he answered, yelled out, “I need to get to my money!” Dad, taken aback asked, “What’s wrong? What do you need money for?” And Uncle Darrell said, “I need hair transplants!!!” My dad, trying not to laugh, said, “Darrell, you can’t have your money unless it’s an emergency.” To which Darrell replied, “THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!! I’M LOSING MY HAIR!!!” And so that is how the first ever “Emergency Hair Transplant” legislation hit the senate floor.
You should all thank Uncle Darrell.
So this is what you mean when you tell me I’m “interesting”.
Um. No. I mean something totally different.
i am too what does that mean………..tom
I’ve got some “gifted” people in my family, but no one that I can blame my shortcomings on.
Damnit.
You need to get you one of those. It certainly takes the pressure off.
Shauna, I wasn’t serious when I told you to pick on my side of the family and your Uncle Darrell reads this site. Expect him to call shortly.
Dad
The “at least I don’t have DGs” comment hits too close to home. My mom had me a little later on in life (she was 37) and back in the day when they did her amnio to test for genetic defects they didn’t quite understand all the chromosomal abnormalities. Guess who came up abnormal?
My parents were prepared to have a retarded baby.
My sisters remind me of this on a monthly basis. The most common comment: “You know, Tiffany… You were born retarded. It’s okay, though. You were supposed to be a genius, but your retarded gene dumbs you down a little bit so now you’re just smart. You lucked out.”
Did I? Did I luck out? I’m cognizant of how mean they are.
I don’t know you personally, but I feel comfortable vouching for you. You’re definitely NOT retarded.
Squirrel!
“It’s not like Uncle Darrell is retarded or anything. No. That would be an insult to retarded people.”
I’ve got an uncle “darrell” – his name is Heikki (Finnish for Henry, I think). We totally blame EVERYTHING on him. But I’m totally normal, so – there’s that.
Does he have another brother named Darrell too?….That would make sense!
Totally enjoying finding your site…and your Dad and DG’s comments were priceless. HA!
If only I had someone to blame my neuroses on.
This really explains a lot, Shauna.
With as many “interesting” people as I have in my family, it’s a small miracle I turned out as awesome as I am.
no comment
Are DGs contagious?
Sounds like your dad was feeling left out of the blogging fame! But will he change his mind after a few posts? It could be infamy instead!
Okay. Everyone’s going to totally love my comment here. I think this is a very funny blog. I will continue to read it. I think. But, as a disAbility advocate…yeah, you know where I’m going…there is a reason that African Americans, females, people with differences, etc., keep changing what they wish to be called. It’s when their condition or skin color or gender becomes a epithet. My daughter has intellectual disAbilities. Some people truly are born that way. They are made fun of for being intellectually different. The brunt of society’s joke. A culture who thinks nothing of calling others the “R” word when they are cognitively typical. When one has a differently abled child or is differently abled, it’s no longer funny. Sorry. I choose to speak up and out. And to drive it further home, since we are now 1 in 100, my child is one of those with intellectual disAbilities who also has autism. Please drop use of the “R” word. It’s really not funny. Thank you. Respectfully submitted. http://leisahammett.typepad.com/the_journey_with_grace/2009/05/speaking-out-on-the-r-word-.html
Back to clarify that 1 in 100 children are now diagnosed with autism. All people who have autism do NOT also have intellectual disAbilities. For decades, however, people with autism were thought to have intellectual disAbilities. The perception of their potential greatly diminished because of a false label. Even when the “label” does apply…well, now people with that extra chromosone? They’re going to college. And driving. And getting married. Someone believed in them more than just the “R” label. I came back on to clarify and then got finger happy. I do not meant to convey hostility here. Just assert my views on fairness. I think you’re a terrific writer.