Odd Observations from a Skewed Perspective

Follow suit. Especially bathing suits.

Beware: Frying Pan Crossing

If there’s a pan in her hand and a gleam in her eye, run.

My father was a notorious prankster. He would often find ways to scare the rest of his family members and shout triumphantly, “that was a good one!”

On this particular occasion, my unsuspecting mother was dutifully doing the dishes in her tiny Brooklyn kitchen. When she heard a loud crash coming from the bedroom, she rushed to investigate. Soapy pan still in hand, she stopped at the bedroom door to see her husband’s feet, prone, on the far side of the bed.

She rushed to his side, crying his name over and over again. Did he have a heart attack? A stroke? A … smile?

As she rounded the corner of that old brass queen bed, sure as the summer day is long, dad lay there with, what GRITS would term as, a “shit eating grin” (supply your own accent).

Allow me to paint this picture: my mother is 4’8″ of stereotypical Latin passion. She was the last born of five in a dirt floor hut tucked in a tiny valley village somewhere in Puerto Rico. Google Adjuntas only if you really want to. Her mother (my grandmother) had had syphilis from am unfaithful spouse, and there were reports of widespread hormone experiments on the island milk and meat supplies. From rural Rico to Brooklyn pool hall, she’d successfully made it to adulthood alive and she was now standing between my father and the bedroom door … with a frying pan in her hand.

I remember hearing the bells of Notre Dame in Brooklyn, that day.

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