Anyone who knows me knows that if I hate one thing in this world it’s water chestnuts. What makes them so particularly deserving of such unbridled disdain? They have virtually zero flavor! That means that an otherwise delicious casserole, or stir fry, or whatever, can be instantly ruined without even really changing the flavor. Have you ever owned an album that was nearly perfect from start to finish, yet there was one track that you always had to skip? That track is water chestnuts! And the album is any dish they occupy! It’s simply a texture thing, and even though they are relatively easy to pick out, I no longer have the patience for such endeavors.
However, if I hate two things in this world, the first is, of course, water chestnuts, and the second is tattooed parents. Am I right? Where do these demonically scarred and willfully unemployed individuals get the nerve? Do they not realize they’ve rolled out the red carpet for Satan and injected him into their skin and children’s lives like a syringe full of marijuana? This was the lesson I was trying to instill in my own child the other day when he stopped me mid-sentence. “But dad,” he said curiously, “you have tattoos…” Can you believe it? He’s only five-years-old and already has more gumption than most adults I know. I looked at him with a smirk and replied, “You’re absolutely right, son– and that is exactly the kind of sass I would expect from the child of tattooed parents! Now, hold my cocaine cigarette while I finish painting these pentagrams.” Being a parent can be really difficult, and I find that outside expectations run a vast array of benchmarks. Despite countless factors like a person’s upbringing, regional traditions, religious mumbo-jumbo, and so on, there are those who let the proof exist within the pudding.
And here I would like to break away from my nonsensical musings to very seriously acknowledge the recent loss of my father-in-law, Dr. Thomas Glennon. He was a well-known professor at Mercer, a community do-gooder, a friend to many, and a father to some of the best humans I have ever known– including the woman who saved my life when she agreed to share hers with me. He was someone unique and special in a town that often finds itself brimming with status quo, and though his passing leaves a certain kind of darkness, the people who he shared his light with will assuredly continue to illuminate our fair city of Macon with that same spark of altruistic madness that he was so well-known for.