Mush

I love my dad. When he was young, he was the guy with the cool muscle car. I forget which kind but it was green and to this day when he sees that older model car he tells me about how he had one and how he never should have sold it. Every time.

It was the 60's. So he had the long hair. The tattoo on his forearm with a hand making a peace sign. He met my mom as a teenager at the beach (he sent a friend over to her to give her a flower--such a romantic). You'd laugh now if you've seen him. He's pretty much ditched the tough guy persona.

They got married. He got a degree. He cut his hair. He turned into the shirt-and-tie guy. And he had two baby girls. Hahahahah! Two!

You can imagine now that once-tough guy...well, let's just say, meet "Mr. Softee". When mom said "no", dad said "yes". When he'd say, "Go ask your mother", we'd lie say "We already did! She said to ask you!"

If we pushed long enough eventually he'd cave to our little wishes and desires, no matter what expense. Yes, I feel bad about that now. And it infuriates me to no end to see my husband being Mr. Softee, so I can just imagine how my mom must have felt but that's neither here nor there.

Oh, we were little monsters. I feel bad about that now.

One time we convinced my dad on a family trip --there were five of us including our 80-something year old grandmother -- oh, and all of our luggage-- that it was a really good idea to rent a red convertible Mustang. It wasn't that warm out yet, there was no trunk space -- at all -- and it was double the price per day of a bigger, spacier sedan that would have fit us comfortably.

This is the best idea ever!

So we squished all five of us and our luggage (picture nice-guy-dad pounding on the trunk that so badly wanted to purge all of our luggage out of it until the teeth of the lock finally closed together but only barely).

We did finally put the top down; there was him and then four girls (my sister, mom, me and my grandmother) so getting our hair messed up was an issue. It was pretty cold out, and we ended up stopped at a light in a really bad part of town at one point, whispering (probably not as inconspicuously as we thought then) to each other about the guys wandering around our car and with inner panic setting in.

But this is the kind of dad we have. One of the many times where my dad caved and my mom got mad and yelled at him ("You always do this! Why do you always do this!") He shrugged and answered her, "They mush me."

Oh it is just so stinking cute to have seen this tough guy transform into Mr. Softee. Yes I am admitting to the world that we selfishly took advantage of this wonderful man who wanted to give us everything in the world. I should still be put in time out for the torture we must have been to this poor man. But even now that we are adults, he is still a worry wart wanting to do everything for his girls. He's the first one there to help us move, fix the sprinklers, fix the floors of our houses, take our husbands out for a beer, and yes, spoil our kids to death. I love my dad.

Now, "Mr. Softee" has taken on a new meaning. When mom says no, "Papa" says yes. I know this because I saw him sneaking in some Curious George candies into my diaper bag the other day.

Mush

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2008/06/mush.html