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(Continued from NATIONAL PASTIME)
In the bizarre, often terrifying pages of this blog, I’ve rarely spent any time writing about my father. Unlike my mother, whose ‘colorful’ antics are well documented in pages and pages of scathing commentary, my father, has been relatively untouched by my bitchy backbiting. Why, you may ask? Because growing up, ‘Big Mike’ (How many 5ft. 7″ Jewish men do you know refer to themselves as ‘Big Mike?’) wasn’t so much a father as he was a guest star. Like Eve Plumb, Sean Cassidy or Barbara Eden who may appear on one or two episodes of FANTASY ISLAND, my old man was a day player who would glamorously appear at Sunday dinner as if out of thin air. While my mother, sisters and I were the hard working ’stars’ of the queesily imagined sitcom of our lives, my dad’s stratospheric Q score made him irresistible to Ford, Gillette, and Johnson & Johnson. Everytime my dad appeared on screen, our ratings shot through the roof. Cue the laugh track.
Imagine my surprise, when guest star ’Big Mike’ suddenly took an interest in my athletic prowess. Like some shop worn episode of the LOVE BOAT, where cruise director Julie McCoy’s mom played by the always delightful Bonnie Franklin, comes aboard ship and immediately begins brow beating poor Julie due to Bonnie’s own stellar career as the ‘Siren of the South Seas,’ my dad was naturally enough, a star baseball player as a youth. Unless you are that retarded Corky from the paralysingly treacly 90′s dramady LIFE GOES ON, you can see EXACTLY where this shit is going. ‘Big Mike’ was signing my gay ass up for Little League whether I liked it or not.
You might think that ‘Big Mike’ would have acknowledged my vociferous protestations, or may have relented due to my artistic (fruity) inclinations, but believe me, ’Big Mike’ was having none of it. Like the most ardent army recruiter, my dad believed that Little League wanted me and no amount of malingering or whining was going to change his mind. As my dad cheerily drove me to my first practice, I sat in the rear of the car terrified. I must have resembled Damian from THE OMEN when unsuspecting Gregory Peck and Leigh Remick drive up to a church with their 5 year old Antichrist in tow. As we approached the field, my eyes grew larger and larger and I began to sweat profusely. My dad parked the car, and as he hastily let me out of the back seat, I projectile vomited all over his spotless chinos.
(To Be Continued)
I never seen site like this.
Make sure to tell your friends! I’ve sold the idea to a production company and trying to turn it into a TV show.