The Bible commands in Exodus 20:12:
Honour your father and your mother.
And truly I tell you, it’s a good commandment.
That’s the Biblical quotatation for you. From theology to humour. Now for an old East Germany joke…
A school teacher asks little Fritz:
“Fritzchen, why are you always speaking of our Soviet brothers? It’s Soviet friends.”
“Well, you can always choose your friends. You can’t choose your family.”
Many a true word said in jest, Fritz.
This been a somewhat frustrating weekend for me. Philip Larkin was spot-on when he wrote This Be Verse. (I leave you to read the poem in your own time. It does have a small typo. I think the second word in the poem should begin with an “m,” not an “f.”)
My Dad, “Sunray,” is a “problem child.” Lonely, with few friends, alienated from most of his family, with an alcohol dependency a “grumpy old man” personality. Not exactly the most attractive thing to write in his online dating profile, but hey, ho, there you go.
Because Sunray has a low boredom threshold. He tends to phone me every two or three times a day on Saturdays, sometimes even more than that, reaching double-figures. The same again on Sundays, even though he knows I am out at church most of the day on Sunday. This being even though I phone him from work three times a week and end up having long chats with him, so he can tell me his “When I was in [insert name of garrison town]…” war stories again and again. And again.
This Saturday I relented and called him back to keep him quiet.
Another anecdote about Fallingbostel 1965, which I’d heard only about…. ooooh… some fifteen times this year…
Three minutes into the call Sunray declares:
Anyway, I don’t want to chat any more. Bye.
Two hours, three hours, four hours later, more phone calls from him. That was the pattern on Friday. This time, on Saturday, I ignore the calls, probably much to his chagrin.
As Schatz was here, I decide to pull out my landline cable to get some peace and quiet. Later in the evening I re-connect the landline. More phone calls from him, not leaving a message. Then at about 20:00 the calls stop. He’s probably drunk his quota of rose wine and climbed into bed for the night, muttering his mantra, “Every single f*cker’s been f*ckin’ me about. Sick and tired of it. People f*ckin’ me about…”
Enough about Sunray.
Have an honourable day, won’t you!