Where's the Beef?

When I was little, Dad used to go to Bermuda for two weeks every August to fulfill his duty as a member of the Army Reserves. This left only Mom and us kids to fend for ourselves. Which always meant we got in a little less trouble. Not because we weren't up to mischief. Just because the, "Wait until your father comes home," threat wasn't as effective when father wasn't coming home for weeks or days.

One of these trips stands out in my memory like none other. I was eight and Bro was six. Mom was VERY, VERY pregnant with Hoot. We all drove Dad to the airport, kissed him lots, and watched him walk away with his big ass green bag full of all kinds of government issue clothing, and perhaps a pair of swim trunks. I loved how Dad looked in his uniform, and I swelled with pride to think of him fighting for our country. Not that we were fighting anyone at the time, but hell, I was 8. I swelled with pride because he made a mean kielbasa. Put him in fatigues and I nearly busted.

Dad boarded the plane, and waved to us one last time, and we turned and made our way back to the car. I could tell that Mom was sad. I even thought she might cry, so I decided not to make a fuss when Bro started whining about sitting in the front seat. I sat right in the back, all "don't worry Mom, I got this one for ya". I was the good eldest daughter that way. And, I wasn't old enough to understand hormones or anything, but I knew well enough that when Mom had a big belly, she cried more easily, and I hated to see it.

As we were driving away, the Hall & Oates song "Every Time You Go Away" started playing and poor Mom done lost her shit and started bawling.

Using my powerful deductive reasoning skillz, I concluded that the song was making her cry, so I intently listened to the words, figuring that what these guys were singing about would give me some clue as to my mother's current emotional state.

And here is what mine little ears did hear:

Every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you...

"Dad forgot his meat," I thought. "That must be what this is about. I mean, there is probably meat in Bermuda, so Dad should be okay. And even if there isn't, he's a big boy and I know he likes brussel sprouts. Eww. I don't know how he can like those things. Maybe Mom feels bad, though, because she had a piece of meat she meant to give him. What can I do so she'll stop thinking about it?"

"Hey Mom? Remember that lady at McDonald's with a earring in her nose? Do you think that when she gets sick and blows her nose, boogies get stuck in there?"

Not only did I manage to change the subject, but I'd made her giggle. Which made me giggle. Which made Bro giggle. Until we were all giggling like crazy about the poor lady at the McDonald's who goddess forbid should ever get a wretched cold. Thank goodness that nose rings are hoops instead of studs now, because for real? A studded earring in your nose? Ew.

I think I'd rather forget to take my meat with me.