Grandma’s Ink
I have been uncool my entire life. I didn’t realize it until I was in about 7th
grade. That’s when the cool kids in my
class began to stand out. It was in how
they dressed, what they did for fun outside of school, and how they
talked. For some reason I didn’t waste
any time or energy worrying about the fact that by being cool themselves, they
made me realize that I was uncool. I
felt no strong compulsion to be one of them, or even like one of them. That continued through high school, even
though I lost a few friends along the way who decided to make the leap to
coolness.
I was even uncool within my own family. I had four older brothers. All of them owned and drove motorcycles. Two of them still do. It never appealed to me. That’s one reason why I firmly believe that
one is born uncool; it is not something that happens to you over time. I only drove a motorcycle one time, when my
brother Mike had a Harley Davidson dirt bike.
He and a friend chided me one day until I agreed to “take her for a ride”.
I had no idea what I was doing, but with their
guidance I managed to get it running. “Now
what”? I was squeezing the clutch lever
tightly although they hadn’t bothered to tell me what it was or why I should
squeeze it. I was more focused on the
throttle that they had me use to rev the engine. “Now”, Mike hollered over the noise of the
engine, “give it the gas. That’s right,”
he said nodding his head. “Open it up
and let go of the lever!” Of course, as
I let go of the lever the bike popped into gear and the front end of the bike
reared up like a wild bronco. The bike slammed
back down again and tipped over; I landed on top of the bike – the end of the
handle bars knocked my wind out. Mike
ran up to me, grabbed me by the back of my shirt, threw me to the side, all the
while exclaiming, “My bike, my bike, my bike!”
It was their intent all along to make me pop a
wheelie, but their joke worked much better than they planned. If any of the neighbors were watching, it
must have been a short, but spectacular show.
It was lucky for Mike that I didn’t damage his bike. It was thanks to my guardian angel that my
breath came back and I hadn’t sustained any other injuries. I always tell people that I only drove a
motorcycle once – five feet straight up and five feet straight down.
The only time that my being uncool concerned me was
when I first met my wife Michelle. It
became obvious to me as we got to get to know each other better that she was
cool. She did not use her coolness as a
barrier, or to set herself apart as many cool people do, but I found out that
she was the head of her class in high school, she was a homecoming queen, and
she was invited to all things social. In
some ways then, we were kind of like another pairing of the Montagues and the
Capulets, and I more than half-expected it to all end tragically and soon. But, except for an occasional question of
whether I owned a shirt that wasn’t flannel, the potential tragedy turned into
a constantly blooming romance that has played daily for 45 plus years now –
longer I suspect than anything on Broadway.
Our four children also recognized that their father is
uncool, and immune to popular social trends.
For Father’s Day one year they gave me a t-shirt with a picture of Green
Bay Packer great Ray Nitschke on it. The
words said, “Nitschke never wore an earring.” I wore it proudly until it disintegrated.
One of the most popular recent trends that I have been
oblivious to is the tattoo. It seems
like everyone regardless of age has at least one. It is the cool thing to do. Some of my children have a number of
them, Michelle and I used to joke that
we were the only couple left in the world without a tattoo.
Last week though we came home from a combined birthday
party for our two youngest grandchildren.
It had been a great party; even the breaking of a pinata happened
without incident. I watched that from a
safe distance as I’ve seen plenty of episodes of America’s Funniest Home
Videos to get dangerously close. But
as we sat on the couch at home I noticed something on Michelle’s arm. “What’s that?” I asked. “Do you like my ink?” Michelle asked, turning
her wrist so I could see it better. It
was a planet with several little moons circling it. “There were some temporary tattoos in the
pinata, and Molly thought that she and Elizabeth and I should be ‘tattoo sisters’.” She then turned off the lamp to show me that
it even glowed in the dark. “Pretty cool,
huh?”
That’s OK I thought to myself. It probably wouldn’t have stuck to my hairy
arm anyway. The top of my head would
have been a better bet. But, I also know that doesn't even matter as the reality is that I wasn’t asked if I wanted one. I guess
even a four-year-old can tell who is cool and who isn’t.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
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