Tag: dad

Sarcasm and Dad Jokes

I’m not a conventional person. In fact, I go significantly far out of my way not to be. I always joke that I don’t think before I speak, I prefer to be as shocked as everyone else by what I will say. When someone says “I think I know you” it’s not uncommon for me to reply:

“Oh, do you watch porn?” or “Ever see Cops?”

Most people can handle it, I’m big enough to avoid problems if they can’t. Sarcasm is a wonderful thing but it can be lost on the weak-minded. More than one person has walked away from me shaking their head in confusion or disbelief. It’s harmless fun for me, I amuse myself while exposing the lack of sense of humor in others.

Today I volunteered at the local food pantry. I committed to the director when I moved here that I would do it every week for at least the winter and as often as I could the rest of the year. I am one of the only volunteers that work every week, the other volunteers have schedules like the 2nd and 4th week etc. Long story short, I meet new volunteers every week. Nice people, all townsfolk, all of them knew my father. Today I was with 4 complete strangers, and I was the only male. One of the nice ladies said, “you look familiar”. Without hesitation, I replied,

“you probably saw me on America’s Most Wanted.” She wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. Until another woman, who apparently knew who I was said to her

“This is ____ ___________’s son.” The startled woman said “Oh, I see. Well, that explains it. Your Dad was a smartass as well. Nice man though.” She was smiling so it was ok.

Sarcasm, tough love, finding humor in inappropriate situations, it’s a long family legacy that I embrace. I come from a long line of smartasses and it’s a proud tradition. We’re also a rugged bunch. We don’t grieve for long. We adapt to whatever happens. We can take a hit, get up and wipe the blood from our chins and move on to the next fight. My wife, on the other hand, is not at all like this, nor is her family. When we had children I knew that our parenting styles would be a constant source of disagreement. Fortunately, we found balance.

My sarcasm and inappropriate sense of humor would prove to be a dominant family trait. Despite my wife’s best efforts to suppress it, my children have warped senses of humor and are hopeless wiseasses. It really infuriates my wife. When my oldest daughter was in third grade her teacher said to her “Oh, I see you speak sarcasm young lady.” My daughter replied

“It’s my second language.”

Her teacher was not amused, based on the hot stare she gave us at the parent-teacher conference. My wife gave me the hairy eyeball.

My oldest son had a parent-teacher conference soon after. The teacher remarked that when she would tell a joke that was of a more adult nature in class, only my son would be snickering in the back row. She wanted to know what kind of household we were providing for our children. I immediately shot back, asking her what kind of jokes she was telling in class. Once again my wife gave me the hairy eyeball.

It wasn’t as if our children were raised at an Eddie Murphy concert. It was just our way of preparing them for the world. I believed in taking away the stigma of things by talking about them instead of sheltering them from it. I would make concessions to my wife and make sure to emphasize caution and be ready for the worst in people but at the end of the day, they knew what the world was even if it was through bad jokes.

One incident comes to mind, because I will never live it down, was when my youngest daughter (# 4) was 7 years old. We lived in a massive apartment complex and my wife and I was outside talking to a new resident. A very reserved woman with an obnoxious little dog. We were being neighborly, making small talk when my youngest ran up and said “Dad, can I go to the playground and meet Cassie?” The playground was well beyond our sight but she was a trustworthy kid so I said’

“Ok, but tell me what you do if a man pulls up in a white van.”

“Hold out for the big Snickers” she replied.

“Right. Have fun.”

I looked over and my wife was livid. Our new friend’s jaw was on the ground. I said, “Say what you want, she gets it.”

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There are so many more examples but I won’t bore you. The point is that my kids have grown to be self-sufficient and strong people. And they are good citizens with solid values. They had the misfortune of seeing their parents struggle with money, go through a foreclosure and a bankruptcy, and their father seriously ill. But they learned from it and they make me so proud. I will help them with anything, but they don’t need it.

The other night a friend of mine asked me how my oldest was doing. I told him how well things were going for her. Graduated top of her class, new job, boyfriend and a new puppy… He cut me off. “Boyfriend?” What’s that like for him? I can’t imagine how scared he is of you.”

“You would think”, I replied, “but if he fucks up he should be more scared of her.” She is strong and tough and doesn’t need me unless her car breaks down. That’s how I want her to be. That’s how she was raised.

Last night she called while walking her dog. She had been fighting with her boyfriend lately so I asked her how they are getting along. She explained that it was fine, she wasn’t happy with how he’s acting but she’s being grown up about it. She told me if need be she’d take her puppy and move back in with her Grandmother. I told her that I was proud of her, that she didn’t turn out like the Disney Princesses she grew up with, helpless damsels waiting for a man on a horse to rescue her. Her reply was priceless.

“Nope, I’d tell him to get the hell off of my new horse.”

God, I love her. Even if she is just like me.

big boy pants

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Today’s topic for Just Jot in January is pants. Considering I just got back from the wake for my often-discussed recently deceased friend Tony, I can think of no better topic.

The wake was as crowded as I had expected. Tony was a well-known and well-liked guy. The crowd consisted mostly of older people, not surprising given his age. Other than his family was an endless line of people who had worked with Tony at the restaurant over his 40-year tenure.

I had the good fortune to sit with some guys who I had only heard the legends of, from Tony of course, but never met until tonight. All they could do was talk about how miserable of a place it was to work. And I thought of all of the times that Tony, after a couple of Courvoisier’s would show his soft white underbelly and state, not complain, state his unhappiness at the hours of his life spent in that one small room while his kids grew up. He lamented the missed weddings and nights out with friends that occurred while he worked. But he immediately came down to earth, shook it off and convinced me, and himself perhaps a little, that it had to be done.

You see, in 1969, in a bad economy, with a pregnant wife and bills to pay you did what you had to do. Even though they didn’t have this expression then, he “put on his big boy pants” and didn’t look back.

Just one of the many reasons I will miss him.

Even when you’re ready for it

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When you know someone is dying it is like being staked to the ground watching a snowball headed for your face. You can do nothing but wait and let it happen. And it stings like a bitch when it hits you. My friend Tony died today. I was expecting it but a massive ouch just the same.

This won’t be a long post, I already wrote a post about him a couple of weeks ago that nobody read so I wouldn’t want to subject more of you to not read it again. (here is the link if you do)

I am feeling so many things right now. I am sad that the world lost another honest, hard-working, simple and decent man. He had the adoration of his children, the devotion of his wife, and the respect of everyone that had the good fortune to meet him.

I’m upset that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. It’s bad enough when someone goes and you realize that you have unfinished business; or that you are unhappy with the last thing you said to that person; or that you meant to visit them but you just didn’t get around to it. But I made the effort. I reached out to the family, asking to visit Tony, but Tony didn’t want visitors. He just wanted to be alone.

Finally, I am feeling nostalgic. One of the only things about working at that miserable restaurant was working with him. It continues to baffle me how any task, like sweating your ass off while serving hundreds of people in one night, can be fun when around those that you love. And I do love Tony, he was like a second father to me. When I was mad at my own, it was Tony who reminded me to love and honor my father because he only wanted the best for me. This from a guy who worked every weekend and holiday, never seeing his family. to do the best for them that he could.

I don’t know what kind of work ethic I had when I met Tony but I know what it is now. I credit him so much for that. Work meant something to him, it wasn’t a source of “braggadocio”, it instead gave a man his honor. I would come to value the accomplished feeling of a job well done, of contributing, of making a difference.

Losing Tony is like losing a part of me. I take comfort knowing that as recently as a few months ago I saw him. We enjoyed a cocktail and I gave him an envelope that he wasn’t allowed to open until I was gone. Inside was a letter telling him how much I cared for him, thankful for all that he taught me and how grateful I was that he had beat Round 1 of Pancreatic Cancer. I know he read it, but he wouldn’t mention it even if I asked.

At least I don’t have the awful burden of things unsaid. I just wish I could have sat with him and squeezed out of him one more of his trademark laughs.

He always told me to say hi to my Dad for him. I hope he gets to do it in person. I’m sure they are in the same place.

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Goodbye dear friend

 

Dad would love this

“Your father would love this,” my mother remarked as she nodded to the craziness occurring in the dining room. I nodded in agreement. We were cleaning dishes and listening to my oldest son, youngest daughter and her best friend abuse each other. It was a perfect night. Cold, windy and snow-covered outside; music playing, wood-stove burning hot and laughter galore inside. The house smelled great and our bellies were full. My Taco Tuesday feast (a day late) of Tacos, Quesadillas, homemade Spanish Rice, and Guacamole was a hit.

Mom was right, Dad would have enjoyed seeing this. He worked his whole life to build a home like this to retire in, entertain his friends and spoil his 6 Grandchildren. It is a true goddamn shame that he would not see this come true. We didn’t get together nearly as often as he, and I, would have liked. Shit happens and time flies. My situation did not allow me to come up. A difficult work schedule, a young family and a wife who resisted coming up (too buggy, too far, too much time in the car, I can’t sleep up there, and I’m too much of a rigid bitch to give you what you want) caused time to slip away far too fast. By the time our schedules freed up a little, Dad was sick and visits became difficult. By difficult, I mean it was hard to watch. I barely held it together, but the children had a visibly hard time with it. The once virile, humorous and incredibly active man was transforming into a shell of his former self. It was not unlike seeing the air escape a balloon in slow motion. It became increasingly difficult for him to go out of the house, he had a hard time getting in and out of cars, and once he couldn’t drive, any optimism he had was out the window.

The good and bad memories of my father surround me. His influence is everywhere. Pictures on the mantle, the flag handed to me at his funeral by a grateful nation, the hand made furniture are good ones. The safety rails in the bathroom and the disassembled handicap ramp in the back yard are not. I remember once, when he had a caretaker at the house, I walked by the bathroom and Dad was on the toilet. He needed to be wiped. I asked him if he wanted my help even as I realized that I had never thought of wiping my father’s ass for him. I also never envisioned a day he would need me to. Dad couldn’t talk but he mouthed the name “Arthur” (the caretaker) and I went to get him. I knew then that the last thing Dad wanted was for me to wipe him, he was embarrassed that I saw him like that. That was a tough day.

Still, I remember the few times that we did get together as a family. Fond memories of him manning the grill, making a campfire, toasting marshmallows, playing with the grandkids, having dinner and playing phase 10 after, these are all great memories.

Yes, he would have loved to be here tonight. I would love for him to be here as well. He really left us too soon. I really want to believe that he is here, somewhere in this house, enjoying the laughter and keeping a careful eye on us.

Miss you big guy

 

 

 

Integrity and $2.25 will get you a coffee

I have been on a nice, even emotional ground lately. I have rolled with adversity and conflict without anger and frustration. The only good thing to come out of recent events is that I have reconciled my past, forgiven myself for past mistakes, and tried to approach my future as positively as possible. I was doing great until yesterday when I saw my wife.

As part of the divorce proceedings, we are required, as parents of a minor child, to take a class on the impact of divorce on children. Our youngest is 15 and she is fine with everything so the course would be a piece of cake. Sit through it, sign your certificate of completion and head home. I would drive her home, I would head back up and we would not see each other until Christmas.

When my wife initially proposed that we get divorced, she put it out there as completely amicable. There was no money to argue about so alimony was out of the question, no assets to bicker over, and an agreement that I would give whatever I could towards supporting the family. No court mandates required. Completely civil. She just wanted to move on and I agreed.

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In the ten-minute ride to her house, she completely changed her tune and started talking about what would happen once I started receiving my disability checks. I didn’t know how to answer that, particularly because I still have no guarantee that I will actually get approved. She began to talk about how much she would need for the youngest two children in the way of clothing, food etc.,. I explained to her that if I am approved I will do whatever I can for my family, reminding her of our previous conversation. She pushed on further, speculating again on a check that I can’t guarantee. Finally, I asked her to just give me a number. She wouldn’t. She refused. Apparently, her monthly expenses are private. They always were I suspect. She handled the finances and despite how well we did we were always broke. Exasperated, I told her she was unaccountable and it was unfair. She replied that I was trying to walk away from this marriage without consequence. Are you absolutely kidding me?

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This is a direct affront to my character. My character is all that I have left in this world and it is not in question. I am committed to always doing the right thing, especially with regards to the children I love so much. I have shown her my ass, figuratively speaking, by disclosing everything and offering it all if needed and she thinks that I would let my family go without anything when it is within my means to prevent it? All I ask for is some transparency, something I have never had in the time we have been together. I may have to have an agreement drawn up after all. I can’t believe that my integrity is on the line after the sacrifices I have made to do right by her. I never say this but I’m offended.

As my dad, a very honorable man often said…”sometimes, it’s just the point that matters.”

Let me tell you about my children

Are you running yet? That is the typical response when someone talks about their kids.

I was never “that guy” who had a stack of pics to roll out like playing cards if someone asked if I had a family (this is before cell phones and uploaded photos of course). I would be happy to talk about them to someone really interested but I have always believed that people are really not interested, it’s just something to say, like “how are you today? “Trust me they don’t really want to know.

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My children are older now and I don’t have to deal with that anymore. But now I want to talk about them to anyone who will listen.

If this past year has taught me anything, it is that life’s meaning is not in the size of your house, your stock portfolio or how nice your car is. After being reduced to an unemployed, sick man with too much time on his hands I have come to value accomplishments as the measure of a man. To do this I had to contemplate the meaning of a real accomplishment. Here is what I came up with.

I worked at a restaurant for a long time. A family business where I met my wife. I rose to the top of the food chain in the kitchen to a manager, where I was responsible for thousands of meals. To be real, however, my only real accomplishment was establishing high standards that led to a reputation as a hard-working perfectionist.

I sold cars for many years. Aside from consistently meeting or exceeding goals for sales and satisfaction, my only real accomplishment was the testimonials of customers that left with a different, better impression of my much-maligned industry after they met me. They used words like nice, accessible, professional and my favorite “has integrity.”

I worked as a Collections and Liquidations (repo) manager for many years. I developed systems, reduced overall losses, and increased profitability for the entire ten years that I was there. I was considered the best in my industry. Despite that, my only real accomplishment was that I helped a lot of people. People who were struggling, confused how things worked and needed someone to talk to who would really listen. I was the person that worked with them and I know that at the end of the day I made a difference in someone’s life.

Nothing else I have done matters…except my children. I really accomplished something there.

My children are awesome. At 21, 20, 18 and 15 I have four decent, sarcastic, hardworking and nice kids. They are good citizens. Charitable, kind-hearted, polite to all, respectful of the elderly and authority figures and did I say nice? I am a truly blessed man. While I wasn’t able to afford a massive house, a car for each of them on their 18th birthday and a trust fund, I was able to give them a decent childhood despite constant financial hardship. We went to Disney, we went camping, they played sports and I spent every minute of daylight and energy that I had to throw the football, fling the frisbee or wrestle on the lawn. Fighting the clock, all the while knowing that they were going to grow up too fast.

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I was able to walk the line between parent and friend, being accessible while still in position to leverage the “Dad card” when necessary. They weren’t afraid to tell me things. I never shielded them from life, instead, I told them how the world really is. My girls dressed as Disney princesses once, but today they aren’t the types to wait around for a man to solve their problems. My boys aren’t fighters, but they knew enough to punch the school bully back and he would leave you alone. And if someone messed with their sisters, well watch out is all I can say. The other lessons they learned from me were unfortunate. They learned the value of saving money by seeing their family home auctioned off. They learned the value of hard work when I lost 6 months of work to illness and the older 2 had to get jobs in High School. They learned about sacrifice when they realized that I had tried to leave a terrible marriage ten years previous, but stayed because they deserved to have their father around. And finally, they learned that life is not all sunshine and rainbows when their mother and I finally split up after 21 years of marriage. Amazingly, they are all thriving. Strong, resilient, versatile and not expecting a damn thing from anyone.

That is truly an accomplishment.

So let me tell you about my kids. Despite all of my shortcomings, they were able to retain all of the good things, rise above the bad and cause person after person to tell me how great my kids are. Thank you, I say. If I were to die tomorrow, they are indeed my real contribution to the world. My legacy.

Talking to granite

I never thought I would be the guy to sit in a cemetery and talk to a piece of granite. I have lost many, too many, friends and family and I always make my visits to their places of rest. But I don’t sit and talk. That changed when I lost my Dad.

Yesterday was the 4th anniversary of his death. I wasn’t in the mood to write yesterday, it’s a tough day for me. Living in a house that he built doesn’t help. I see his touch everywhere in the woodworking, design, and collectibles. As I write this I’m sitting in his favorite chair with his beloved dog sleeping at my feet.

4 years later I still tear up when I think of him and when I attempt to talk about him I invariably choke up. I have been fortunate to have been asked to speak at some events I am a part of and have foolishly attempted to speak of my father and consequently blubbered in front of packed rooms. Historically, I am not a crier. But when it comes to Dad I can’t control it.

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As a guy with a long family tradition of “sucking it up and moving on” I am puzzled why it is not getting easier as the years pass. Time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t fill all voids. His loss occurred at a time in my life I probably needed him the most. I was finally coming around to understanding the things he said. Things that I rejected in my youth that I later learned he was dead on about. I had just started to appreciate his simplistic approach to life; be nice to people, tell the truth and work hard and the rest will come. I had just started to recognize that people with his value system and work ethic were slowly vanishing and his presence was a treasure. I was at a point when I needed his eternal optimism to fuel me as I entered the worst chapter of my life. He was minimalism at its finest…less is more. Less showboating, less ego, less drama, and aggravation.

I miss him. The world was a better place with him in it. He deserved better. He worked so hard for so many years to provide for his family and build a retirement. He retired early because his co-workers were all dying young. He enjoyed about 3 years before Parkinson’s reared its ugly head. It reduced a strong, proud man to a mere shell in a long 8 years. Those years took more than his mobility, they took his pride and his independence. Death was a relief for him, I saw his face when he took his last breath.

My life has been especially challenging lately. I am trying to maintain the family optimism and positivity. It’s getting harder. I wish I still had him telling me that everything is going to work out. I suppose while I’m wishing for things I wish that he could have enjoyed his retirement. I wish that he could have celebrated his 50th wedding anniversary. I wish I could tell him how many things he was right about.

I wish that I didn’t have to tell a granite slab things that I wanted to tell him to his face.

Tell the people in your life how you feel about them today, don’t wait. Tomorrow is not a guarantee. You may find yourself sitting in a cemetery talking to granite also. If you’re reading this it’s because I chose to share it with you. Because I care about you and I won’t wait until it’s too late to tell you. Regret is as eternal as granite.

when the student becomes the master

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“What are you talking about?” I said to my son. “I’m nice as can be.”

“Dad, all I’m saying is you seem different. Less patient. You’re not the same. Just pointing it out.” This came out of left field to me. My youngest son and I were in a Wal-Mart checking out car stereos, having a great time and he drops this on me. Apparently, I had made quite the facial expression when a toddler in the next aisle let out a blood-curdling shriek. I explained to him that it wasn’t that I was angry at the child, or the parent for that matter, I just have a very low tolerance for loud noises.

“It’s not just that.” He informed me. “You were wicked inpatient in the supermarket and hardware store today. It’s not like you. You’ve always been the guy that smiled at people and let little things go.”

He was right. Well, mostly correct. I suppose that in my transition from a fast-paced area to a relaxed community I have not yet adapted to the difference in pace. I still walk fast and when shopping, for example, I am all business. People up here tend to move slowly, stand obliviously in your way and I guess it shows on my face. It’s not that I’m not nice to people, I just get annoyed at the aloofness of people. I can see how it would look otherwise. Annoyed at first, I quickly realized that this was a teachable moment. Even for this old dog. The kid is sharp and I admire the hell out of his ability to just speak his mind.

The student becomes the master.

I suppose I could take this opportunity to call this a parenting victory. But it’s not. He’s just a very smart, observant and very chill young man. He was up visiting me for the long weekend. His 18th birthday was the day after Thanksgiving and I was getting him some speakers for his car. Because we don’t spend much time together anymore, we are not as used to each other as we were. He saw a change in my behavior and he called me on it. I could be angry but I’m not. I needed it.

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I have taken some hits lately and I’m really trying to be that positive guy that everyone counts on to be in a good mood. But it’s become a job. He reminded me to be the person that he apparently looked up to.

As we were leaving the store he told me to meet him at the front of the store, he was going to use the bathroom. I sat on a bench and waited for him. When he came out, I stood up and looked him in the eye and said “You’re right.”

“About what?” He asked.

“About me not being as nice as I used to be. I’ll work on it.”

“Good ’nuff” he said and turned and started walking towards the door. I watched the handsome, 6-foot tall young man with the hat turned backward and confident yet easy-going gait and thought to myself I did something right with that one.

 

 

 

 

Day 15… A letter to my community

Dear small New England Town:

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There was a time when this town was my only vacation outlet. As a child, I spent every weekend of the summer here. We had a campsite in one of the campgrounds right on the banks of the lake. I spent some of the best times of my life in that campground. Sun-soaked days on the lake, campfires at night. I learned to do so many things and made so many friends. I fondly remember the excitement of everyone showing up at the beginning of the season after a long winter. Anticipating the fun ahead. Bittersweet memories of late summer nights, lying in the field and gazing at the stars knowing that the summer was almost over and school would soon start.

As I grew older, and my family moved on from a campground to a house I visited less. I was a young guy with a job, the occasional girlfriend, and friends. All of which made the 2-hour drive less desirable.

When I got married and had children we came up as often as we could. My children always loved it up here. They got to do all of the things that I did as a child. Just not as often. We were limited to day trips, and only if the weather was projected to be nice. We felt that other than the beach there is nothing to do here.

When Dad retired Mom and Dad made a life up here. They turned a small Chalet into a much larger, year-round house with a garage and a lawn. They became full-time residents here in 2001. I didn’t know how they did it. Other than the beach what was there to do here? I could never grasp the pace. With the exception of the 4th of July parade, the town seemed pretty dead.

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I am now a full-time resident of this town and I will be for the foreseeable future. While I was driven here by less than ideal circumstances, I have to admit I love it here. The town is beautiful. The air is clean. The people are nice. The buildings are old. And the pace is just the way I like it.

I have come to the conclusion that my body has been breaking for a long time. I blame it on trying to maintain a pace that I am not capable of anymore. The hustle and bustle of my former life were killing me and I am not cut out for it anymore. I don’t know how I managed so long. But my new pace will extend my life.

I can’t step outside without childhood memories washing over me. When I sit by the lake I still see Dad’s smiling, tanned face as he drove the boat. Mom in tow on waterskis smiling from ear to ear. At night, I take a deep breath and savor the smell of wood-burning stoves. I still look up at the starlit sky, but now I see hope.

I will experience my first winter in this wonderful town. I am here for better or for worse. I plan on enjoying it. Getting involved in the town. I want to meet as many of the people as I can. I want to be accepted, for I am now a resident, not just a seasonal visitor.

 

cheap beer and memories

If nothing else I am a guy that can learn a lesson. I’m open to it and I recognize the value of applying what I’ve learned to do right by virtue of having done it wrong. I’m also burdened with a tremendous memory, in particular for the stupid things that I’ve said and done. I beat myself up mercilessly to this day for things that I did even in my teens. Mostly between the hours of 11 PM and 3 AM.

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My mantra has typically been “I don’t think before I speak, I like to be as surprised as everyone else by what comes out.” I tend to be pleasantly sarcastic so I’m not very offputting. But Sunday I had the opportunity to see a friend do a replay of one of my most regrettable stupid comments. And it was an eye-opener.

A little back-story. When I was 20 my dad and I went to visit one of his co-workers. Another hard working truck driver who had just been diagnosed with Cancer. Dad and I drove 100 miles to see him at his vacation home because that was how Dad was. We arrived at Smitty’s house around noon and we got the tour of the house. Smitty led us to the kitchen and the big man opened the refrigerator and grabbed 3 beers in his enormous hand. As he handed one to me I stupidly said: “Ugh, Miller Lite.” Smitty looked at me and then at Dad. I looked at Dad as well and he was pissed, I just knew.

We eventually said our goodbyes and walked to the truck. His door was barely closed when he turned and looked me in the eyes, serious as a heart attack and said:” when someone offers you a beer I don’t care if it tastes like a warm glass of camel-piss you take it and you say thank you. Do you understand me?” I did, and I felt awful. But it stuck with me. From that day forward I always cheerfully accepted whatever anyone offered me.

Yesterday I was serving a charity breakfast. The Masons do a blood drive every year in our building and I make a full breakfast for all donors. I love to cook and I love to help. I look forward to it every year. In particular, I look forward to seeing my friend Paul. He seldom attends other functions but he always comes to this one to see me in the kitchen. On this day he stayed until the end to help me clean up.

We were joined in the kitchen by Dan, another friend. Paul and I were talking and Dan was scrubbing some pots. Paul asked me if I wanted to stick around and grab a beer with him after. I explained that I had to drive 2 hours home so probably no. It seemed I barely had time to turn around and there he was with three cans of beer, one for each of us. Miller Lite. I gladly accepted and all eyes were on Dan. Dan turns and says:”Miller Lite, that’s what I drink when I can’t drink my own piss!”

I looked at him and before I could stop myself I said: “Dan when someone offers you a beer just take it and say thank you. What’s wrong with you?”

Who said that?