I just returned from some fun times in Cleveland. Most of my dad’s family lives up there and it’s always good to see them. As always, there was good conversation and copious amounts of food. I could go on about the visit, but I think I’ll just share this gem:
My parents and I were getting ready to leave my grandparent’s house for our four-hour drive back to northern Kentucky. We had just filled the cooler with pop — a necessity in my family, you must take road pops — when my grandpa pulled out two rolled documents.
“We just painted the upstairs bedrooms and had to move the dressers,” he said. “One of the drawers was stuck, and when we finally got it out we found these.” First he unrolled a poster of a car and asked if it was my dad’s. He said he’d never seen it.
And then he unrolled a Hustler magazine.
“Your brothers denied this was theirs, is it yours?” my grandpa asked my dad. Of course he denied it. We then studied the cover of the magazine looking for a year that might help us determine the likely culprit.
Let me paint that picture again: my mom, dad, grandma, grandpa and myself, all standing in my grandparents’ garage, staring at a dirty magazine cover.
And then we drove home, Joe Henry’s “Dirty Magazine” stuck in my head.
Happy Father’s Day!