Sunday, June 21, 2009

Happy Father's Day!

Hope all the fathers, grandfathers and fathers-to-be are having a great day. If you happen to be of the fairer sex, hopefully you have a great day too. But this one is for us. You had your day last month, so I really don't want to hear it right now. Unless you care to comment. I like comments. (wink-hint-nudge).

Anyway, about a week ago my daughter's boyfriend was at our house. The starter in his Explorer is bad, but it's a stick so he doesn't care that much. He thought he could roll-start it in our driveway. Unfortunately, our driveway is only about two carlengths long. While it is oh-so-slightly downhill, there is a little rise where it meets the street. Yeah, it didn't start. It ended up halfway in the street. He came back in to ask for a little help pushing it, but first we had to pull it far enough back up the driveway to complete the turn onto the street. I had my left hand in the door jamb, as the driver's door was open. As we completed our heave, he decided to shut the door. The fact that two objects can't occupy the same space at the same time didn't occur to him on either the physical or philosophical level. He shut the door, and the door displaced my hand. Painfully. Actually just the pointer and middle finger. (Symbolic?) Thankfully no bones broken or anything like that - just pain and a good opportunity to practice not cussing when I really, really, wanted to.

Fast forward to Friday afternoon. As I was stepping through the front door, a freak gust of wind tried to slam it in my face. The little brass striker thing that sticks out of the door caught my sore left pointer finger and pulled the nail about 1/4 the way off. If anything like that has happened to you before, I don't need to explain any farther. If you've been lucky enough to avoid it, well, there's a reason the Vietnamese used to torture our POWs that way.

So today, at the end of church, that same pointer finger had a small hangnail. I've been paranoid about the bent-backwards fingernail catching on things, so the hangnail was more distracting than usual. I decided to deal with it in the manly way of yanking it off. Usually this solves the problem with a minimum of fuss. Probably should have waited until tomorrow, though, because the hangnail decided it didn't want to be lonely on Father's Day. It took a fair bit of the surrounding skin with it. Thankfully I'm not one who freaks at the sight of my own blood, if you know what I mean.

Now the end of my left pointer finger more-or-less looks like I held onto a firecrakcer too long before throwing it. My wife is at work for a few more hours, and I'm sitting here by myself eating room temperature store-brand raviolis right out of the can as the weather tries to decide if it should do a full-on rain or just continue to drizzle.

How's your Father's Day going?


  1. (Laughs out loud.)

    Heh. Wait till the kids get here.

    My mom laughs at me all the time.

  2. OMG! Sounds like your Father's Day was the opposite of mine! Spent mine with my girls, they gave me some shirts, and then went to my parents' house where my Dad smoked a turkey. We ate fresh smoked-turkey sandwiches, some on home made bread.

    I tore a toenail off with some pliers once. The guy that was over at my house witnessed me doing it; he had my guitar and started playing really loud while I started getting the grip on it. I had accidentally kicked my cinder block coffee table about 2 days prior to the nail rip and had, like you, just had enough.

    So fun. Hope you have recovered some by now!


Family-friendly phrasing heartily encouraged.

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