Giving Thanks, and Getting all sorts of Crap.

When my Father came into the room on Thanksgiving Day, there wasn't a soul in the room that didn't know we were related.

I used to look like my younger brother.
Then, I looked like my older brother.
Now, I look like my Dad.

Although my Father is a good man, a true man, and a hard working, hard thinking man....I don't want to look like him.

He's eighty.

I want to look twenty five, please and thank you.

It's always good to see Dad.....his laugh is easy to get, he beats the ever-lovin' CRAP out of me in SCRABBLE, and we pretty much agree on what to watch on television. We had an opportunity to watch the Patriots kick the crap out of the Lions, and the Buckeyes kick the crap out of the Wolverines.

And every now and then, he'll come across with a story that I have never heard before. And that's worth the price of admission right there.

I love them stories.

He is ridiculously demanding, however; he insists that we join him in Florida in March and London in June. That's a lot to accomplish. But I'll do it, because I've always wanted to see Florida.

Heh. Bull. I've seen Florida from stem to stern, and yes, it does look like the country is pissing on Cuba. I want to see London. And I know if I don't do it now, I won't do it, and I'll miss my Father's reaction to it all.

Which leads me to my Father's new story: There is a castle named Tintagel in Cornwall, the cradle of the family. And in his searching of the family tree, he has discovered a link between our family and the family of Arthnou, who had the castle built. So, he's convinced we're descended from King Arthur.

So, let's do a quick summation:
Love my Father.
He's slightly mad.

But it gives a great excuse to regularly sing, "we're Knights of the Round Table, we dance whene'er we're able, and often times are given rhymes that are quite unsing-able..."