Saturday Nights - Living Room Floor! Be THERE!

My Dad celebrated his 79th birthday today. My brother and sister and our families got together along with my Mom and my aunt to celebrate around food. It's what we do.

It was a sweet time, we laughed at old jokes or anecdotes ... laughed at each other. . . laughed at ourselves. It was kind of light and refreshing.

I've been thinking about my Dad a good bit lately. As I've referenced in this blog, his health has gone down hill and his mind is not always as sharp as it once was.

When we were kids, Dad wasn't much of a sports fan and not a real "outdoors" type - except to work a garden or tend the lawn. So he and I didn't share some of the things dads and sons share. I used to think I was missing out on a lot, but I don't think so now.

My brother tagged along with Dad more than I and got more involved with Dad in some ways.

But Dad and I had our common interests: we liked to watch detective stories and mysteries like "Cannon", "Barnaby Jones", "Perry Mason", and "Mannix"; we liked politics - I think the last time I strongly opposed his political views was when Jimmy Carter ran for Governor of Georgia... Dad voted for Hal Suit and he was right; I remember standing in line on a warm evening at a little precinct in Cassville, Georgia with my Dad - my first time to vote - we were both pulling the lever that day for Ronald Reagan; we both enjoyed the Old Testament, Dad was reputed to be a great Sunday School teacher. Though I only heard him a few times, I decided I wanted to be like him in that respect.

Another strong common interest we shared was Saturday Night Wrestling.

I know most of you have probably never thought of Professional Wrestling as heartwarming - so I'm sentimental.

Many Saturday nights, I would emerge from my bath having rid myself of all evidence of the day's adventures. Dad would usually plop down in the floor on a cushion from the couch (I realize that the thought of a grown man lying in the floor with a sofa cushion may seem improper and even reprehensible to some - but keep in mind, we were watching Professional Wrestling - not Lawrence Welk). I would join him as we took in the sordid adventures portrayed before us.

We'd watch Tojo Yonomoto, Mr. Wrestling 2, The Assassins, Dory Funk, Jr, and the "American Dream!" - Dusty Rhodes, as they spent a few minutes in the ring and then a long time at the microphone promoting the next big match. We'd get equally frustrated when Sam Bass would pull his opponent's hair while the ditsy referee was tying his shoelaces. We thrilled to the Suplex, the Pile-Driver, and the Belly-to-Back-Souffle'. Then there would be the "clean" battles with a lot of "head-locks" and full-nelsons and half-nelsons. And every once in awhile, someone would pull out the dreaded "Sleeper-Hold" or the ominous "Boston Crab" and we knew it was over for the victim.

And then would come the commercials. In the Atlanta market it was "Wouldn't you really rather have a D.L ... D.l. Claiborne ... Claiborne Buick!..." or "Bargain Town U.S.A."; When we lived in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, we could hear a long dissertation from the owner of the "three Friendly Epp's Stores" in Birmingham. So it was during these expanded intermissions that we sought ways to relieve our boredom and act out our frustrations.

During commercials: that's when the action really began! Throughout the entire break, Dad and I would mimick what we had seen on the screen. I would bound back and forth, pouncing here - plunging there and Dad would stay pretty much stationary - depending on defensive measures and a vice-like grip. We'd go head-to-head or toe-to-toe until someone got hurt or until the action kicked back in on the screen.

And I realize now - that was bonding. Wrestling with my Dad, spending time together -even if it was in front of the television. It was quality time - I realize that now more than ever.

Thanks, Dad.