my eyes, my eyes!
June 25, 2008
My dad was a university professor, published author, organizational behavior business consultant, family therapist, and a pillar in his religious community.
And apparently very comfortable with his naked self.
He used to get up early and exercise in the house. We didn’t have a home gym or anything, but he would go for a run, do some calisthenics, use a rebounder mini trampoline. And mostly he would do all this wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Mostly.
Except this one time.
Me, my brother, and a group of friends were preparing to head to Taylor’s Falls, on the Minnesota/Wisconsin state line, to do some cliff jumping, canoeing, and general goofing, so we were filling coolers and bags with food, drink, and gear. Early in the morning. About the time my dad was exercising. In his sweatshirt. But not his sweatpants. No, this time, just his jockstrap. He was over 50 at the time.
And he was helpful, getting the cooler from the garage, grabbing a gear bag from the shelf, waving to us from the door as we sat, stunned, in the car, pulling out of the garage. Before the garage door could close, he turned and went back inside.
HE TURNED AND WENT BACK INSIDE!
Some things are burned into your brain, images you can never forget, no matter how much you drink or what drugs you ingest. To Jerry and John, on behalf of my dad, I apologize.
I mean, it’s not like he did it on purpose. Is it?