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I Do (Not Remember).
Written on 2002-02-02, at 1:25 a.m.
dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

3 Bowls Cereal

2 Glasses Fresh Florida Orange Juice

1 Order Mozzerella Cheese Sticks

1 16oz. Prime Rib

1 Loaded Baked Potato

2 Cigarettes

Um...that health thing?

It's done.


John Live*

Yo.

*Not at all live


A while ago, my parents were in town visiting, and somehow, we got to talking about love, and marriage.

You know, like you do.

Some background...

My parents are disgustingly sweet, they've been married thirty-four years, are perfect for each other, have NEVER fought, and do things like hold hands and cuddle while out in public.

Those sorts of saccharin-y sweet things that used to annoy me as a child (because of embarrassment), now annoy me as an adult (because I know I'll never have that).

So, while talking about love, and such, I ask them...

"Dad, how did you propose?"

Because in twenty-three years, I realized I had never heard the story.

My father stopped, looked at me, looked at my mother, and said...

"You know, I don't remember."

Searching my mothers face for signs of the impending divorce proceedings, she startled me by responding:

"Hmm...neither do I."

I was astonished.

Neither of my parents remembered how they became engaged?

How they started upon that road of wedded bliss, which has survived the better part of three decades, one beautiful son, and one questionably human daughter...

I said...

"No, really...how?"

And they both gave the same response as before.

Thinking I could blame this on senility, I happened to recall that they were both only fifty-three, and my father had an annoying habit of remembering the exact amount of all monies I ask for.

Pressing further, my mother did remember the first time she saw my father.

"I was a junior (in college), and my girlfriends wanted me to go with them to your fathers school, to watch the basketball game."

My father played basketball for his college.

He was athletic.

Um, just like me.

She continued...

"I didn't want to go, because I really wanted to spend the weekend doing homework, and studying (again, just like...er, me), but they made me go. I remember seeing your father on the court, looking very handsome in his uniform."

At this point, I was gagging.

"So I said, he seems very nice, and one of my girlfriends happened to be dating a friend of his, so we were introduced after the game."

And the rest, is history.

Lost history, apparently, but, history, nonetheless.

My father's best memory, however, was asking my grandfather's permission to marry my mother.

I find this scenario incredibly hilarious, as I can see it clearly.

My grandfather, a very intimidating Sicilian, with questionable connections to organized crime, sitting in the leather recliner which still adorns the living room of my grandmother's house in New Jersey, smoking a large cigar, reading the racing forum.

My father, nervous as it was, standing there, being ignored by Pop-Pop Tony (my grandfather), until he was good and ready to acknowledge him.

And somewhere in the back of the house, my grandmother cooking enough pasta to keep Star Jones busy for the better part of an hour.

But, regardless of memories, they seem happy, and to the best of my knowledge, always have been.

I'm just wondering how I've missed out on that.


My horoscope today said that a past love would soon rekindle itself in a surprising way.

I'm hoping that "surprising" doesn't really stand for "creepily stalking".

Be well...

-JOHN-


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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