Shenanigans

My dad has always been a quirky kind of guy. Honestly, he comes by it naturally. His momma always asks for a load of manure for her birthday. Weirdest…gift…ever even though we have it in abundance. Come summer that truckload of manure turns into a gorgeous and plentiful garden.

I love it when dad is playing his Gibson and that one note just won’t come out quite right. He’ll shake his head while clearing his throat like the note is jammed way down in there and he can dislodge it if he hucks loud enough. Usually winds up just moving on in the song with that one note being replaced by ahemahemahemhembbrrrggghhh.

Pinochle is one of our family's favorite pastimes. Aunts and Uncles partner up when we all get together. Kids are not allowed because we aren’t good enough to play with the adults. That is until we are home and mom and dad simply have to play. So a couple of us get in some practice. Mom takes one victim and I, invariably, get paired up with dad. Let me tell you, it is not fun. Dad coaches me and encourages me, but if I play the wrong card, ooohhhh the glare I get from him. Then a five minute explanation of what I did wrong. Once in a great while I get a great hand, so what do I do? I bid. Well, dad can’t just let me have the bid. Oh no. He’ll bid over me. So when the bidding goes round the table I am unsure if I should bid again. “Bid your hand Andee,” dad will say with a goofy grin on his face. I bid again, but he will bid me up. AHHHHH. He’s my partner so I’m confused as to why he keeps bidding. You know why? Cause dad can’t, not, have the bid. He has to be the winning bidder unless he bids the other team up into the 400s.

Dad loves it when he can play tricks on me. His favorite is to watch me walk down the lane, most likely headed to Grandma and Grandpa McDonald’s house. Our lane is a quarter mile long so when I get about a third of the way down the lane I’ll hear, “ANDEE!” Oh geez! What did I forget to do? Is what comes to my mind first, but then I remember dad’s game he loves to play. “ANDEE!” I hear again, so I do an about face and head back up the lane. I can’t ignore his summons, ‘cause he’s my daddy. He meets me in the driveway with that stupid grin on his face and a cup of coffee in hand. “How far would you have been if I hadn’t stopped you?” “Ddaaadddd,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Have a great time honey,” he says as he walks back up to the shop. UGH!

Maybe he’s so quirky ‘cause he was born on St.Patrick’s day and the Irish are well known for their shenanigans. Grandma loved to make him a green cake for his birthday which was a remarkable thing since she was the worst cook in the family. She thought it was clever and funny. Dad hated it. Years and years of green cakes. When mom continued the tradition after they got married, he flat out couldn’t take it any more. “Honey, can I just have a chocolate cake? Anything but a green cake.” Mom was so surprised, “I thought you liked green cakes. Your mom said it’s your favorite.” Tricks on you this time dad. Shenanigans are a McDonald family tradition.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.