I went home to West Des Moines for my parent's 50+1 anniversary. 50+1 because last year was a rough one. Bladder cancer, surgery, recovery, etc. But this past winter my dad told my mom, "We should have a party. We should celebrate."
Damn straight.
So my mom set it up. She sent out actual invitations. Although she didn't send any to her cousins from Detroit.
Nonetheless, they came anyway.
"Hi, we're Simma's cousins from Detroit," they fondly said when introduced. "We weren't invited."
I got in Thursday. We flew because time flies, and traveling by car with a ten month old does not.
Once we landed we threw our bags in the Nissan Whatever and flashed our rental agreement to no one because Des Moines treats people like adults.
It was hot so I cranked the AC, and then the KGGO.
Billy Idol > Led Zeppelin > Foreigner.
It will always be 1985 on KGGO.
Driving to my parents' house from the airport now gives me anxiety. Mostly because Army Post road is not the Army Post Road I remember. It curves around and then somehow you're on 63rd. I don't know. It's not until I see the Raccoon River that it makes sense again.
But we pulled into the driveway and it was all good. My sister's family was already in the pool. They were brown.
My cousin Rachel was supposed to get in Thursday, but
Arthur stormed on those plans and I didn't see her until Saturday morning. But it was a bonus for me because I got to meet her 11 year old daughter, Ilana. I don't really know from 11 year old girls, but Ilana was pretty awesome. Nothing about One Direction, friendship bracelets, or Hunger Games. Just a cool kid.
Ilana embraced the chaos, pretty much lived in the pool, and made
unicorn poop cookies with the younger kids. Not exactly sure what happened (although I think it had something to do with using applesauce instead of shortening) but the cookies erred more on the side of poop than unicorn...
(Double Bonus: It turns out
Ilana follows me on the
instagram.)
My sister and brother-in-law's family got in Wednesday; which means they already had the extra bedroom locked up for their son Rueben. But we threw an air mattress down in his room for my daughter Nola and everything was ok. Although one night Ruby just wanted to go to sleep, but Nola had to tell him about how Rapunzel could never leave the tower until she met Flynn Rider and Elsa didn't want to hurt Anna with an icy blast and Hans was bad and Olaf was a snow man but he was good and...
Before picking up Bruce and his family Friday afternoon from the Megabus stop, I stopped off at Tasty Tacos first because
Hello, Tasty Tacos! When I saw the sign against the sky it was like angels singing.
Ahhhhhhhhhh!
But then when I saw the sign on the door, it was the sound of a child crying out in pain.
AHHHHHHHHHHH!
Well, maybe that was me.
The Megabus stop, by the way, is not so easy to find - even with a smart phone. Seriously,
look it up. They don't make it easy.
I ended up at the new science center. Oh wait, there's a
new science center?! What happened to the old one with the big pendulum and the Pink Floyd laser light shows and those stuffed raccoons with the pointy teeth they kept downstairs by the big windows?
Eventually I found the Megabus stop just as they were de-bussing. I saw Lowell's mop of hair.
Oh, I'm sorry, duh, of course, Bruce and his family came. I say
duh because they are now part of my family. It's not such a long story, but Bruce and his family visit my parents as much as I do if not more. That is, they will visit on their own. Without me.
No, seriously.
And as much as they love my parents, my parents love them.
As a matter of fact, it was thundering early Saturday morning and it had just started to rain. So I went outside, grabbed all the towels off the deck, and went back upstairs. An hour or so later I came back down. My mom was on the phone looking out the window talking to Alice Friedgood. She didn't know I was right behind her.
"It's raining," she said. "I came to get the towels, but someone already got them. It was probably Bruce."
I gently tapped her shoulder.
"Uh, it was me, mom. Your actual son."
"Oh."
(Just so we're all on the same blog page, I have no problem with this. None. I don't feel usurped. In reality, I probably just beat Bruce to the punch. And besides, Bruce
owns the refrigerator with his mad Tetris skills.)
Friday night all the families with kids went to the Des Moines Golf and Country Club for the fireworks. I've only been once - last year. Bruce has gone more than me.
It's a lovely affair. Everyone plants a blanket or some chairs on the grassy hill by the clubhouse. And then they wander off to the dance tent, or to the driving range which turns into a mini-carnival with rides, and booths for face painting and spray-on tattoos.
The rides are not full on hardcore carny, but the spinning bathtubs horrify me.
However, at this point my 4 year old is content with the train ride that takes the 6 and under crowd out to the deep end of the driving range where the heavy hitters send their range balls.
Short shorts wearing tween girls line up at the booths to lift their tank tops and get unicorns and butterflies airbrushed on their hip bones. Boys get dragons and skulls on their arms. The effect is like a prep school truck stop for underage drivers.
It's mostly little kids in the dance tent as they hop and bop to classic rock, or KGGO if you will.
There's an old tree off to the side of the clubhouse just after the dance tent. It's perfectly in the way of the fireworks, or at least it was last year. Imagine the fireworks are like the sun. Now imagine the sun is directly overhead and you put your hand up to block it. That's what the tree is like. But we sat there last year and I liked it because there were less people sitting near us.
When we ran into the Friedgoods, I told them where we were sitting.
"Over there," I pointed. "It's a terrible spot."
"I'm sure it's fine," said Alice. "We'll see you there."
We got some cotton candy for our daughter because we promised her cotton candy. We promised her months ago and like a dog whose toy you put behind a closet door, she's been fixated on it ever since. Also, in case anyone has forgotten, cotton candy is toddler meth.
"Can we get more for later? Can we? Can we? We're probably gonna need more."
"What you have is fine, sweetheart."
For me, Des Moines is Tasty Tacos. For my wife, it's the ice cream sundae bar at the club. Unfortunately, they closed the sundae bar early.
"No!" my wife cried. "How can they do that?"
"I don't know, sweetheart. I can get you some mints from the locker room."
Once it gets dark it seems to take too long for the fireworks to start. You can feel everyone collectively tensing up.
C'mon, let's go! I have to put my kids down! If this doesn't happen soon, tomorrow's gonna suck. Honey, do you remember if my tee time is 8 or 8:30?
The first one went up...
Whizzzzzzzzz... POP!
"Stephen!" shouted Alice dragging her chair toward the clubhouse (along with a dozen others). "These seats are terrible!"
"I told you."
"Uhhgg. Don't talk to me!"
My wife and daughter and I lied in the dark on the blanket and looked up at the fireworks behind the tree. Every now and then there was a high one we could see through the thin branches at the top. And there were one or two that shot out to the sides. It wasn't so bad. It was nice lying there. But then I had the genius idea to move toward the sand trap where we could enjoy an unobstructed view AND have no one near us. Win-win.
After the
last one we joined the slow march back to the parking lot. Nola was coming down off her cotton candy high, but she was pretty good, not too fussy. I was quietly appreciative of my wife who had enforced the forced nap.
Jason and Bruce were in the kitchen when we got home.
"We're going to do karaoke," said Jason. "You want to come."
"Hmmm, let me think about it no."
"C'mon. We won't stay long."
"Um, no."
I went to bed.
My parents hosted a dinner party at the Embassy Club West Saturday night. I don't think I've ever been to the Embassy Club, let alone the West one. Apparently it's where the Ponderosa Golf Club used to be, which quite frankly that BLOWS MY MIND.
Stephen, the maitre 'd, worked with Guido (of Guido's) back in the day. Back in the day Guido's was THE restaurant in Des Moines. And for my family, it was a staple on birthdays, anniversaries, or any BIG occasion.
Outside there is a small pond with a bridge that crosses it. It felt like I was in Florida, on one of the Keys. But maybe that was the humidity.
My sister suggested to me that we play
the video at the restaurant because not everyone had seen it.
The video is probably one of the best things I've ever done. I made it about 10 years ago. It's footage of my parents getting married and them as a young couple.
But what makes it especially amazingly extraordinary is when my dad was in Viet Nam, my parents used to send each other letters on audio tape. In the pile of old 8mm films that make up
the video; there was one of those audio tapes. So it's like my mom is narrating the whole thing.
My parents are private people so we don't make
the video a big deal. I have it hidden deep on one of my facebook pages. But I can share it here because no one really reads this blog.
(And that's ok. No harm, no foul. C'est la vie.)
Sunday morning was the big brunch at the country club. My sister had called me a few weeks prior and asked if I'd written a speech.
"Um, no," I said. "Was I supposed to?"
"Well, if you want to be the favorite child..."
We didn't tell our parents that we were giving speeches as we've learned it's always best to keep expectations low. I suspect my parents suspected we'd say something, though.
My parents held their brunch in the Starlight Room. It's where my sister got married. It's a pretty great room. And it was filed with people I recognized if didn't fully know. Some faces had changed, some were exactly as I remembered - maybe the hair was grayer, or snow white in some cases; sotra like a Bar Mitzvah time capsule come to life.
I saw my friend Dave's parents. I gave Mrs Feingold a hug. Mr Feingold put his hand out.
"Oh, no, Mr Feingold. You bring it in."
Whenever I saw a childhood friend's parents, they asked to be called by their first name. I nodded and told the story about Ab's dad.
Ab's dad had pulled me aside sometime after college and said, "I think you're old enough to call me by my name. Call me Max."
"Ok, Mr Bear, will do."
(Because I met him as Mr Bear. His first name is Mister. It will always be Mister.)
Anyway, my parents went up and thanked everyone for coming. Both my parents spoke well, but my dad dropped some wisdom on everyone.
1) Don't go to bed angry. (I've heard that before.)
2) There's no 'I' in team. (We've all heard that before.)
3) WE comes before I in WEDDING. (Hmmm, that's a good one.)
My sister went up and gave her speech. It was solid. She was solid. Then I went up to do mine. I started off pretty good, although I thought the
slow learner line would have received a bigger laugh:
...It’s about trust and communication and love. And you have to work at those things. My parents taught me that. They continue to teach me that. So as a slow learner, you can imagine how much I appreciate that they’ve been married for 51 years.
I was on the last paragraph, and that's when it hit. I laugh/cried.
When I get choked up, I laugh/cry. In life I try not to cry. Yes, I know it's just some macho bullshit, but that's my DNA. I get it from my dad. People hate going to emotional movies with me because they think I'm laughing at the movie. I'm not. I'm weeping. Only it comes out as a laugh/cry.
Ok, I said to myself.
It's ok. Just pull up. Pull up. You can get out of this.
I continued with the speech. A few words came out. But it happened again; the laugh/cry.
Keep it together, man. We can do this. Just pull up.
A man at the next table called out, "What's so funny?"
You're too low, Striker! You're too low! Pull up!
I tried to continue with the speech, but all the engines had burst into flames, oil was splattered across the windshield, and the plane was going down!
My sister parachuted in to finish the speech for me. As I was trying to show her where the wings had come off, my daughter (out of nowhere) started pulling on my leg.
"It's ok, daddy," she said giving me a tiny thumbs up.
O M G!
SO. DAMN. CUTE!
It was totes adorbs and those within view/earshot gave a welcome
awww. And like Popeye with a can full of spinach, I was able to muscle through the last lines.
Because when they’re dancing; when they’re looking into each other’s eyes, when one moves to the left and the other knows to go to the right, when they’re holding each other, when they’re in that moment where it’s just them; and there are no hospitals, no appointments, no tests, no mishegoss about their children or anything else. When they are dancing, everything else falls away. And they are not my parents. They are Michael and Simma. And that’s why we’re here tonight.
As I leaned down to pick up my daughter, I hit her forehead with the stem of my wineglass. It was NOT that big a deal, but I knew how it was going to end so I quickly exited stage right. I went over to the corner, kissed away her tears, and thanked for coming up to help daddy.
It was truly a wonderful weekend, and all of a sudden it was over. We were heading home.
I laugh/cried when I said goodbye to my parents. Part of that laugh/cry is because I'm afraid I will never see them again. The other part is the first part, too. I'm just a big baby.
One last thing I want to say about Des Moines is that it's not a visit home unless we go to the HyVee at least three different times in one day.
One night (a second trip for me) my wife went to go look for one more thing while I waited up front NEAR the checkout. Three different customers asked me if I was in line.
"No," I said. "I'm good."
And four different employees wanted to help.
"We can check you out at four, sir."
"I'm good," I said. "Thanks."
That's NOT how it is in Chicago.
Oh, Des Moines, how I love you.
They say you can't go home again. You can. It's just different.
