I had breakfast with my dad this morning. He's in town for a couple weeks from Arizona, where he and my mom live for most of the year. We met up at the usual place; an old-timey restaurant designed to look like a log cabin that serves terrible coffee and platters of lacey pancakes that glisten with grease. We talked about the usual things: his health, the weather, my chances of getting Winston to let me have 2 pet chickens. (And, husband dear, it is totally happening. It's not like I'm asking for jewelry or Range Rovers. I want 2 damn chickens. I can't very well call myself a chicken enthusiast and not have any damn chickens. It's embarrassing.) Finally, how bored my mom must be alone in Arizona, otherwise known in my family as Bedrock.
Me: Mom called me yesterday and told me the rodeo was in town. I thought the heat was getting to her until she started sending me pictures of cowboys. You better get back out there soon before she starts braiding her hair and wearing flannel.
Dad: Yeah, I guess the rodeo is at the Avi (the local Indian reservation). Well, it gives her something to do. I guess she's going line dancing again tonight.
Me: Holy crap, did I tell you that she called and told me she wants me to start taking line dancing classes with her when she comes to Cleveland this summer? No. Just no.
Dad: Dana, Dana. Your mother just wants to..."
Me (interrupting): I am not learning how to group dance to hillbilly music! I'll take line dancing when she starts joining book clubs! No! I don't care if she wants to spend time with me! I am not doing it!
Dad: What I was going to say was, she wants to make amends with you about the ballet lessons.
Which made us both laugh like idiots.
When I was 5, all I wanted to do was take ballet lessons. I wanted so badly to be a ballerina. So my mom signed me up for classes at a local middle school. I had 5 or 6 glorious lessons, then one day she told me that she wanted to play women's hotstove softball and I would not be returning to ballet. She said there was no point in taking ballet because I was going to be too tall. And there is no such thing as a tall ballerina. She told me the story of how Princess Diana had to stop taking ballet when she was in high school because she had a growth spurt and shot up to 5'9. My mom is 5'11, so she had a valid point, but I cried for years. I also stopped growing in 4th grade and remain 5'4. If anyone so much as mentions dance, ballet, dreams or Princess Diana, a screaming match ensues.
At Easter dinner...
My Brother Dan: I had this totally messed up dream last night about Mike Modano, the sexiest man in the NHL.
Me: I had a dream once. I was going to be a ballerina but no! Mom wanted to play hotstove softball! And I am the perfect height to be a ballerina! You ruined my life!
My Mom: Good God, let it go already. You always were a troublesome child. And you're too clumsy to be a ballerina. How many head injuries have you had?
Me: Maybe I wouldn't be so freaking clumsy if I had taken ballet!!! And it's only like 1 or 2 head injuries!
Winston: More like 5 or 6. And remember when you stood up and broke your own foot? Just by standing up?
Dan: It wasn't a gay dream or anything.
My Mom: See! You're too clumsy!
Me: I hate all of you! I could have been a dancer! I could have been lean and elegant instead of squat and pear shaped!
My Dad: You people are against me! You put everyone else's favorite salad dressing on the table but not mine! This is my house! I want my salad dressing!
My Mom: It's right next to your plate.
My Dad: Oh.
This conversation takes place at nearly all family functions, with surprising little variety.
Anyway, just before the check arrives, my dad looks at me and says, "So tell me, what do you know about Benton Harbor?"
I yelled, "How the hell did you find out about Benton Harbor?" Inside, I was scrambling to figure out how he found out about my aborted ghetto luncheon in 1995 in Benton Harbor, MI. He was hundreds of miles away!
Dad: I've known about Benton Harbor since the sixties.
Me: No way. What are you, Nostradamus? Wait a minute. Are we talking about the same thing?
Dad: Chicken Man! The Adventures of Chicken Man!
Me: Are you stroking out?
Dad: It was my favorite radio show when I was a kid! The Adventures of Chicken Man! Crime Fighter! It was this guy, kinda like Batman, except his name was Benton Harbor and he dressed like a chicken. His car? The Chicken Coupe. It was great!
Me: You are making this up. No way there was a radio show about a crime fighting chicken named Benton Harbor. This is exactly like the time you told us that Minnie Mouse was named for my great grandmother.
Dad: You go home and look it up! Chicken Man! Winged Warrior! And Walt Disney did name Minnie Mouse after your great grandmother Minnie. They met at a bar. What did you think I was talking about?
Me: I almost had lunch in Benton Harbor, Michigan once.
Dad: How do you almost have lunch?
Me: Well, me and my friend Sarah and her mom were road tripping to Chicago to see that big Monet exhibit. We were cutting through southern Michigan and her mom handed us the map and said, "Pick out a promising sounding city and we'll lunch there, girls!" Sarah and I looked on the map and saw this little city on the edge of Lake Michigan called Benton Harbor. We thought it sounded chic, like "chicken salad on the waterfront in a bistro" chic.
Dad: Oh my God.
Me: Yeah well, we didn't know it was in the ghetto until we had passed not one, but two large black women sitting on couches in their front yards eating potato chips. Picture Gary, Indiana and then make it 100x more run down. Sarah's mom said, "Girls! Benton Harbor is not promising! I'm getting back on the expressway!" That's my Benton Harbor story. No crime fighting chicken.
Dad: The White Winged Warrior! Chicken Man!
I'm not sure what the point of any of this is. I just think it's no coincidence that I am trying to get Winston to let me have 2 pet chickens that will winter in the basement (did I mention that?) and that my dad was singing the theme song to Chicken Man at breakfast this morning. It means something.
~dana
Note: my dad was not stroking out. click here to listen to some of the old reels of Chicken Man! Plucky White Winged Hero! Chicken Man Radio Show
