My Dad is better than your Dad.
Family winter weekend '07. My oh so cute father, Mr. Scutt decided to start a band. He grabbed his best friend, his entire family, a fender stratocaster and backing tracks of Harrison and mcCartney and played live at a lounge in M-i-s-s-i-s-s-a-u-g-a on Saturday night. Sure there were 10 other bands playing similar songs and you only got 20 min of fame (which, might I add is 5 higher than your standard 15) but for a brief while, The cleverly named "Chris Scutt band" was in the spotlight and the smile on him was literally, ear to ear.
It was awesome. First of all, no one can play Clapton like Clapton; we are all aware of that, but my dad does while my guitar gently weeps some serious justice. Clemens blew his mind over the fact that our family's camera was 11 mega pixels and went all Ansel Adams for the 20 min they were on. My Sister brought her three kids and the baby played the drums fericiously on the linen tables during Grandpa's set. Mom became a frat boy and chugged back a bottle of beer then asked where "all da bitches were." I just marvelled in the entire experience around me.
When you are young (read: adolescent) you see your parents as these white-washed-slaves-to-the-man, boring people that you vow to not end up like. When your eyes are rimmed in black makeup and you're standing at smokers corner you find yourself angrily cursing Mom and Dad for not giving you the car this weekend. You see them as passionless and definately not understanding. They are a bother, a pylon in your way that you need to plow down in order to make sure you dont get sucked into their metaphorical vaccum of unoriginality. You decide your life, in that moment, will be 400 times more exciting then theirs.
Turns out, snobby adolescent scutt, they did have personalities (!) and they were alright. Dad and you can now converse about politics, religion and weather (weather? yes...weather. Mr. Scutt is borderline psychotically obsessed with weather) he plays guitar in ways that you can only dream about and he is the first person to pull out a bottle of red wine and get drunk with you. Mom has lost her nagging persona and starts to treat you like a real woman. She trades books with scutt (unfortunately they are usually Dr. Phils or his fuckface wife's current non ficton bestseller) and tells you that you still look "good in everything."
It appears that I am really starting to enjoy my family more than ever before. I see there coolness now and tend to stick up for them when they have scuttisms. Because really, I appreciate now that I am totally half my mom and half my dad, so if we grew up and continually thought our parents were oh-so-lame, that would just mean that you too, are lame? or something like that...I think I have made my point regardless.
I just wish they had taught me the beauty of not using run on sentences. But whatever, MY DAD can play Clapton.
It was awesome. First of all, no one can play Clapton like Clapton; we are all aware of that, but my dad does while my guitar gently weeps some serious justice. Clemens blew his mind over the fact that our family's camera was 11 mega pixels and went all Ansel Adams for the 20 min they were on. My Sister brought her three kids and the baby played the drums fericiously on the linen tables during Grandpa's set. Mom became a frat boy and chugged back a bottle of beer then asked where "all da bitches were." I just marvelled in the entire experience around me.
When you are young (read: adolescent) you see your parents as these white-washed-slaves-to-the-man, boring people that you vow to not end up like. When your eyes are rimmed in black makeup and you're standing at smokers corner you find yourself angrily cursing Mom and Dad for not giving you the car this weekend. You see them as passionless and definately not understanding. They are a bother, a pylon in your way that you need to plow down in order to make sure you dont get sucked into their metaphorical vaccum of unoriginality. You decide your life, in that moment, will be 400 times more exciting then theirs.
Turns out, snobby adolescent scutt, they did have personalities (!) and they were alright. Dad and you can now converse about politics, religion and weather (weather? yes...weather. Mr. Scutt is borderline psychotically obsessed with weather) he plays guitar in ways that you can only dream about and he is the first person to pull out a bottle of red wine and get drunk with you. Mom has lost her nagging persona and starts to treat you like a real woman. She trades books with scutt (unfortunately they are usually Dr. Phils or his fuckface wife's current non ficton bestseller) and tells you that you still look "good in everything."
It appears that I am really starting to enjoy my family more than ever before. I see there coolness now and tend to stick up for them when they have scuttisms. Because really, I appreciate now that I am totally half my mom and half my dad, so if we grew up and continually thought our parents were oh-so-lame, that would just mean that you too, are lame? or something like that...I think I have made my point regardless.
I just wish they had taught me the beauty of not using run on sentences. But whatever, MY DAD can play Clapton.
posted by PS at
7:30 PM
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