Subj: The Visiting Parent Chronicles, Part Deux
Date: 12/26/97
To: jjw-l@io.com

Well, I've never had a more refreshing weekend in my life, even if it was in the middle of the week, so to speak.

How wonderful to have one's forebearers come to visit, Mom and Dad in their Christmas finery. And, as one Bentz Kirby reminded me earlier, there was the Christmas music pageant featuring a solo by my lovely daughter. It made me tingle to hear God's work through the melodious voices of our church's children, tomorrow's leaders. Even Jerry Jeff would be hard-pressed to compete ... and Bucky Pizzarelli, I just can't see him being so angelic.

We were all treated to a real treat at the Christmas Eve service, the new junior priest singing along with the choir ... what a glorious evening to be alive!

Sure, I needed all kinds of pills to keep breathing through the cigarette smoke wafting down the halls of my humble abode, but finally, morning came and oh, what a wondrous dawn it was.

The family dog was fittingly attired in a red bow tie for the occasion and under the tree, the leavings of St. Nick (no, that's not the dog's name), festooned for the occasion in bright reds and greens and assorted other merry colors, presents, expressions of the love which all of the Rogers clan holds for one another.

I didn't get the new Steve Earle CD (OK, it's not that new anymore), or even tickets to Jerry Jeff's Galveston show Jan. 3, but I did get a new golf towel bearing the proud insignia of the new conference affiliation of my alma mater -- something called the Big West Conference. My heart leaped!

My children also celebrated when they opened up their packages with the T-shirts from the Naperville, Ill. YMCA ... they're wearing them to bed right now. My brother, the newest and proudest resident of that Chicago suburb, sent them. He also sent my father another major league baseball trivia book, which he had half read by bedtime.

My wife seemed especially proud of my presents to her, the work shoes and the new dustbuster. I'm feeling lucky tonight.

I also got four new pairs of jeans, which is handy since just last week I had to retire two pairs because of crotch rot. (I prefer to call it crotch blowout, as in I just outgrew them down there -- well, that's what I prefer.)

Christmas afternoon, three generations of the family, my dad, me, my son all went to the movies. We picked a PG movie, and Dad and I went to see the new exploding 007 movie. My son went for the R-rated Scream 2, since he'd already seen 007, and no self-respecting 13-year-old would go to anything less than an R rating anyway, not to mention get caught dead anywhere with his dad and grandpa. We were at the new google-a-plex theater, the first time I'd visited this one. It's right across the street from that Mexican food place we can no longer afford since they got fined $1.8 million for hiring and hiding illegal aliens. Well, our theater was mighty crowded for 007. Dad says he can't get used to sitting "in" the screen ... these new stadium-seating theaters get you so close. But then he still couldn't hear any of the most important dialogue and I spent the afternoon repeating it line by line, while our neighbors glared and complained.

Well , the Bond market is up at our house, you could say. Dad, who told me before the show that James Bond was no big deal, that he'd seen James Bond movies 40 years ago (pretty good trick since they've only been around for 35 years), really liked the flick. I think he liked seeing Terri Hatcher's ass, too. I know Terri likes showing it. So anyway we come out of our showing-room and look for Dave Junior. Not where he's supposed to be, not even in the game room spending all his Christmas cash. He's over watching another R move, The American Werewolf, where he sneaked in.

So we drag Junior out and head home where the women, my mom and wife, seem about half souced on the wine they're cooking the dinner in. They grumble that they're so hungry they could eat a man, whoa, maybe that was a little poetic license there by the author, I don't know. But three generations of Beaumont Daves and a pint-sized neighbor friend of my daughter pig out. Still room for pecan pie a la mode, though. I think I'll go get some more before I go to bed.

The evening was uneventful, a lot of trying on of new clothes. They all fit ... or they will once we've all lost 20 pounds on our New Year's Resolution Diets.... and I engage the kids in some incredibly complicated version of scrabble that someone got to torture us with. Thanks a lot Uncle Bert! We watch Seinfeld and discover Elaine has Shiksa 'ppeal. She's the queen of the bar mitzvahs and all the 13-year-olds are trying to get their tongues down her throat. Thank God my 13-year-old's not Jewish, and if he were, he'd have to stand in line behind me.

Speaking of Jews, we were talking about Christ and Christmas, weren't we? Good to see the Pope acknowledging those pre-Christians. It was good to see the folks and I must acknowledge that those two special members of the pre-Dave generation are some pretty special folks.

I don't know what I'd do without them, but tomorrow I'll find out. They hop in the Hackmobile (wall to wall chainsmoking) and head home. Beaumont Dave and his family head off to see the in-laws. The light-headedness we feel will be from clean East Texas air.

Lessee, another round of incredibly rich and calorie-laden desserts. I can handle that. A seat on the couch for countless football games Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I can handle that. Pretending to be surprised and delighted when that skinny, square package holds that new Garth Brooks CD, I can handle that. I can even go one quick game of Barbies with my effeminate nephew.

Getting stuck in a room with my wife and mother-in-law, oh, kill me right now!!! It's almost enough to make me want to go out with my father-in-law and rake leaves in a freezing rain. Or pile into my brother-in-law's Skoal-stained pickup and go vaccinate cows.

Just another reminder of the similarity between a stay at a certain hotel and another day on the Beaumont Dave merry-go-round. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave. Yee-fucking-haw!