Christmas is an odd time for my dear old dad. I guess because it combines the two things he loves and loathes the most; beer and family.
That’s not to say that he hates our family. I think he loves us all in his own peculiar way. It’s more that he can’t stand a group of us arriving en mass, singing bawdy Christmas songs, giggling over our presents, or trying to coax him into a round of Charades (he does Gone with the Wind every bloody year and still grumbles about it).
This year was particularly interesting, as his grandson was there. The grandson in question had recently leapt out of the closet, and although my Dad had accepted this, he couldn’t quite understand it.
“Such a lovely looking boy…” He said at first, with such sadness. “He could have had any girl..”
Then a few more drinks entered his bloodstream and his tongue became a little looser.
“I just don’t understand homosexuals.” He said finally. “I mean, if it’s all about the bums. At the end of the day, nothing beats a girl’s bottom…”
I honestly don’t know what is worse – having a father who fails to understand basic sexual compulsions, or having a father discussing his own penchant for female arses – all whilst we’re sitting cracking nuts and talking about the state of the country.
Luckily his Grandson burst into laughter, kissed him on the head and told him he was a “’legend”
I guess that’s one word for him….