Kit scowled as she lectured me on the benefits of diet and exercise.
"Dad, you need to do some kind of exercise. Have you thought about walking?" she asked seriously.
"I walk." I answered.
"Where?" She inquired.
"From the bed to the bathroom and from the TV to the kitchen." I responded.
Kit shook her head disgustedly and regarded me as though I was a fifty year old child.
My wife's death two years ago was traumatic for me and I had gained twenty pounds, maybe more.
"Tomorrows Christmas Eve, Andy and I expect you about 7pm and try to wear something decent, no jeans or sneakers. OK?" She said in an exasperated tone.
After Kit left, I went thru my closet searching for something that still fit me. Except for a few pairs of sweats and some jeans, zippo! With Kit's proclamation about the proper attire ringing in my ears, I put on a fresh pair of sweats and headed to the Galleria.
Promptly at 7pm, I arrived at Kit's wearing my new clothes and she seemed very pleased. At her in-laws urging she adopted their family tradition of opening gifts on Christmas Eve and with a disgruntled look, I sat in Kit's living room and exchanged presents.
Kit's in-laws always gave such nice tasteful store bought gifts but this year they surprised Kit and Andy with a gift certificate to Home Depot.
"How sickeningly thoughtful." I mused to myself.
Kit and Andy were remodeling their living room but when I saw the "extravagant" amount on the certificate, I thought it might buy a couple of sheets of dry wall at the most. They vociferously expressed their appreciation but under my breath I muttered,
"Cheap Bastard's."
They were so "white bread" wholesome that I wanted to puke. The most boring and non-descript people I ever had the displeasure of meeting. They wrote the book on cheap and saved and cut corners with something akin to religious zeal. To them a penny saved was worth far more than a penny spent.
Sometimes, I comically envisioned Mr. "Tight Ass" opening his wallet and the portrait of George Washington on the dollar bill blinking at the glare from the light.
I opened my yearly holiday card which usually contained a gift certificate to brunch or a dinner at a local restaurant. To my surprise and disappointment, the gift certificate was for a yearly membership to Brewer's Ultimate Gym.
Kit saw my expression.
"Now Dad, that gym is less than a mile from your house and has the latest in cardio equipment." She stated factually
Before I had a chance to respond, Mr. "White Bread" spoke up.
"That's good exercise for your heart."
Initially I wanted to comment by saying,
"No shit Sherlock, is that a fact." But, I knew that Kit's wrath was less desirable.
As I was preparing to leave for the evening, Kit looked apprehensive.
"I worry about you all alone in that house, especially on Christmas eve." She said in a voice full of concern.
After spending the last four hours with the "Ozzie and Harriet" clones discussing bodily functions and safe penny pinching investing, I needed multiple shots of Jack Daniel's to restore my sanity. Sitting at home with only the light from the TV serving as my sole source of illumination was a much welcome and needed relief.
"Remember tomorrow at 2pm." She stated as her parting words.
Unfortunately for me, Kit's in-laws were in town until New Years Day.
My prayers for a blizzard in Southern California went unanswered and on Christmas Day, I was seated next to Mr. "White Bread" in the den. Out of the blue, he volunteers to take my flabby ass to Brewer's Gym on the 26th.
"Don't want the gift certificate to go to waste." The stingy prick declared.
At dinner, I made sure I put small portions of each food item on my plate. Mrs. "White Bread" made the tasteless stuffing and overcooked vegetables. When I reached for the salt, I was greeted by a bevy of howling voices admonishing me on the use of salt and its deadly side effects. I wanted to say.
"It's salt for Chrissakes, not arsenic!"
If that wasn't bad enough, I had to sit through reruns on the golf channel with "Mr. Arnold Palmer Wanna Be" commenting about each shot and its significance to the game.
"He should use the five iron!" Mr. "Double Bogey" would declare to the TV.
It was so incredibly boring that I wanted to hang a sign around my neck that said "PLEASE KILL ME" and walk thru South Central LA with hundred dollar bills hanging out of my pockets.
I loved my daughter and although she was raised by a pair of non-conformists, she felt at home and at ease with the "White Breads" of Michigan. But, they corrected me on that as well. It was The U P or Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
"Lord, where did I go wrong?" I silently implored with my eyes skyward.
With morbid humor, I thanked God that my wife had died before Kit married Mr. "White Bread Jr." and was subjected to their idea of a holly jolly Christmas.
I was saying goodbye and had to suffer thru a chorus of "so soon?" from the insincere and faux disappointed "White Breads."
Kit walked with me to my car and before I got in, gave me a hug.
"I know their not your cup of tea, but did you have any fun?" she asked in a sincere way.
I pondered her question for a moment.
"Yeah, when I took a dump in the upstairs bathroom!" I stated with honesty.
"Dad, you're impossible!" she exclaimed with a sour puss face that lightened to a broad grin and hugged me affectionately.
At home, I was relaxing in my Lazy Boy lounger, the only inanimate object in my house that I truly loved, when a ½ hour TV sitcom called "How I Met Your Mother" caught my attention.
The basic premise is simple, the main character, Ted, is looking for a mate and all the trials and tribulations involved with the search. His friends are an eclectic group of twenty-something's who hang out, give him advice and have adventures of their own.
After I watched the show, I was struck by the timelessness of the eternal struggle to find a life mate, soul mate, wife or husband. Like the character Ted, I always thought the girl I just dated or met might be the "one."
An incredible flood of memories swept thru me as I recalled the long and winding road to true love and marriage. I saw myself as a teenager...
ONE:
Davis was handing me a joint as we sat under the bleachers at River Heights High School. We were seniors and part of the top academic group; the group that was routinely abused by the jock crowd.
The peace movement was dead but smoking pot was still the high of choice. Davis wanted to introduce me to his cousin Lisa at a party on Saturday night.
"What does she look like, a cocker spaniel?" I asked sarcastically.
"She's good looking, man." He rebutted.
We both saw our friend Megan run toward us in her sweaty field hockey clothes.
"Smoking pot again!" she stated too loudly.
"Thanks Megan! Now the whole school knows." Davis stated with anger.
Before I had a chance to say hello, Megan took off down the field. I watched with some longing as she ran back to practice.
"You really like her?" Davis asked with some disbelief.
"Yeah" I said in a dreamy voice.
Later, as I was walking home, I heard a familiar voice behind me. In a flash, Megan was at my side.
"You need help with the Calc worksheet we got in class today?" She asked.
"I sure do!" I said still feeling the effects of the pot.
"My house, 7pm" she stated and walked with me the rest of the way.
Megan and I became friends in fifth grade when I needed help with some math problems. I must have looked helpless because from then on she took me under her wing.
Megan was an excellent athlete and considering girls' sports programs in the early 1970's were vastly inferior to boys' in terms of funding, quite an achievement.
Megan was very brainy and placed in the top scholastic group at school. She moved effortlessly between the jocks and the geeks, although I think she preferred the geeks.
That was part of my problem, I didn't look like a geek and neither did Davis. With our bell bottom jeans, long hair and tie dyed shirts, we looked like we were going to a Grateful Dead concert. But, our inclusion in the top academic group automatically accorded us geek status.
In junior year I developed a serious crush on Megan but because perception is more readily accepted than reality, I kept my feelings to myself. I was convinced that she would laugh at me if I asked her out.
The real torture was watching her date other guys, especially one of the loathsome jocks.
Saturday night, I met Davis' cousin and for once he wasn't lying, she was a cutie. But, she was a full figured girl, not fat but filled out. I preferred my women slim, trim and athletic. By the end of the night I had her telephone number and we started dating.
Fall in Southeastern Pennsylvania was my favorite time of the year and watching Megan play field hockey on a warm afternoon was heaven on earth. I never tired of watching her fly up and down the field as she switched from offense to defense effortlessly.
As the year progressed, our friendship grew but I still harbored my secret crush. I purposely joined the school newspaper as a sports reporter so I could attend her away games. But, in my secret heart, I was her biggest fan and admirer.
I was convinced that our relationship would never amount to more than friendship. With that in my mind, I dated Lisa and like Ted on the TV show, thought I had found "her" but the feeling didn't last long.
