I am about to do something that I swore I'd never do. I've invited my old man to write "with" me, right here on this blog.
Just as I'm sure that much wiser writers have sworn off using muses for editors, most of us probably also have strong intuition warning against sharing creative work with parents. Siblings, maybe. Parents? Best wait til they're transformed into the ether before you go tellin stories on em, especially those tales where the folks factored in heavily.
But here I go...
In my defense, here's how I arrived at this interesting form of insanity:
My dad, whose line of work before retirement was investigating purchasers of eyebrow-raising insurance policies, has always been pretty amusing. He has this huge group of surviving buddies from the Korean War with whom he carries on by email. Sometimes they all convene on some lucky tourist joint, understanding wives in tow. Anyway, it's the emails that brought me here.
Daddy, who might just be the only non-pseudonymed family character in this blog, likes to wax just a little rhapsodic now and then about his childhood via email. He has full rights to -- it was a pretty funny existence.
Thing is, I've only stumbled upon Daddy's funny stories because he forgot and left me on the airforce buddy maillist a few times.
So far he's refused to start his own blog, and I get that -- writing off-the-cuff when the mood hits ya is a far different bird than feeling obligated to crank out stuff on a scheduled basis. But at least he's given me permission now to post some of his ramblings here.
Just as I'm sure that much wiser writers have sworn off using muses for editors, most of us probably also have strong intuition warning against sharing creative work with parents. Siblings, maybe. Parents? Best wait til they're transformed into the ether before you go tellin stories on em, especially those tales where the folks factored in heavily.
But here I go...
In my defense, here's how I arrived at this interesting form of insanity:
My dad, whose line of work before retirement was investigating purchasers of eyebrow-raising insurance policies, has always been pretty amusing. He has this huge group of surviving buddies from the Korean War with whom he carries on by email. Sometimes they all convene on some lucky tourist joint, understanding wives in tow. Anyway, it's the emails that brought me here.
Daddy, who might just be the only non-pseudonymed family character in this blog, likes to wax just a little rhapsodic now and then about his childhood via email. He has full rights to -- it was a pretty funny existence.
Thing is, I've only stumbled upon Daddy's funny stories because he forgot and left me on the airforce buddy maillist a few times.
So far he's refused to start his own blog, and I get that -- writing off-the-cuff when the mood hits ya is a far different bird than feeling obligated to crank out stuff on a scheduled basis. But at least he's given me permission now to post some of his ramblings here.
Without further ado, I present Mr. David G. Morris, aka Fox. (Almost just like Ernest Hemingway, Daddy.)
Pock An Egg
And Now, It's Dave with The Weather
