March 31st, 2023

    My parents had to take me to the emergency room when I was around seven. This was the first time that I had to get an x-ray. The technician took me into the cold room with the scary machine.

It was like one of the science fiction movies my dad watched on channel nine after my bedtime. I was sitting alone on the cold table with a heavy blanket over my legs. The mad scientist left the room and lights flashed and the big machine made a loud noise.

The x-ray was taken and Doctor Frankenstein took me back to my parents. I was snuggling real tight with my mommy when the doctor came in with the plastic sheet with my picture.

The doctor slipped it into a light on the wall and explained grown up stuff to my parents.

I was scared.

The doctor left the room suddenly and in doing so left the picture of my chest and tummy in his doo-hickey.

My dad turned the light back on and said,

“Moose, if you take a closer look at this picture you can see your soul.”

I popped up quickly to see my soul. This was something I learned about at school and church.

“Here it is right here son.”

I looked at the blurry white blob that sat in the middle of the picture. I couldn’t make it out, but since my dad said it was my soul…. It was my soul.

Then my mom stood up and said she could see it and if you take a closer look you could see something else around my soul.

“Don, do you see this right here?”

My mom pointed at the blurry object.

“Here is the Holy Spirit surrounding John’s soul.”

“You’re right Cecilia! That is the Holy Spirit!”

My dad turned off the light showing my x-ray and turned to me with his big smile.

“Moose…. You have the Holy Spirit inside you. This picture confirms it.”

From that day forward I knew that all the stuff we learned in religion class was true.

I had a soul and inside my soul was the Holy Spirit. I got home from the hospital and the monster under my bed was gone. The ghoul in the closet was gone and the scary shadow on my bedroom window was just a tree limb. The robot arm smashing into my window every night when I was sleeping disappeared.

The best part of that x-Ray was the confidence I gained over Satan and his asshole demons. The devil could never bother me again.

I have the Holy Spirit living in my tummy!

The memory of that hospital visit has always been with me. It became part of the Faith that strengthened my Foundation. From that day I was a Christian Soldier more powerful than any monster or robot or devil.

Someday when I die I’ll leave this sexy body behind and my soul will rejoin my mom and dad. I’ll tell my dad that I figured out that he was bullshiting me that day in the hospital. Then he’ll walk me over to the hill overlooking the Eternal Kingdom and say,

“Does this look like bullshit to you son?”

.....and I’ll reply, “Is there a hotdog stand somewhere down there dad?”

That’s my Holy Spirit story.

I have hope because of that Holy Ghost and it was strengthened with a White Sox win last night.

It’s a great morning in Chicagoland when both teams win the first game of the year.

My feet hit the ground this morning and I looked down at the devil. One hand on my chest and the other one flipping off Satan.

Happy Friday Chalkheads!

March 30th, 2023

 The start of a brand new season is today. It doesn’t matter if you won the final game played last year or if you barely won any.

Everyone is in first place….. today.

Today everyone is given a fresh start. What happened in the past doesn’t matter anymore.

Last years World Series Champions and last years last place team are both undefeated.

When you got out of bed this morning…. You were undefeated.

Go get some runs today. Move the base runners around the pads. Keep your eye on the ball and make contact.

Today is my dear friend Amy Weaver’s birthday. If you don’t have a Weavy in your life you are missing out. The last time I went to Old Comiskey Park was with Amy Weaver. Last year we celebrated her mom’s birthday at the new Comiskey Park.

James Earl Jones said that baseball was the one constant thing that America has. Well, Amy Weaver is the one constant thing I have. The world is better knowing that redhead is a few miles up the road.

Happy Birthday Weavy….

It’s Thursday already… some of us are finishing the work week. Some of us are nearing the end of Spring break vacation. The last spring break that I went on I ended up hungover and sunburned.

Spring break is overrated!

Cubbies have a home opener today. The Sox open up down in Houston. Nothing better than the fun at the old ballpark.

Grab your dear friend and get mustard on your shirt!

March 29th, 2023

 I picked this quote with the intention of writing about the latest tragedy that happened this week in Nashville. I’m not going to open that can of worms.

I’d love to go into how Tuesday was a horseshit kind of day. This Chalkboard’s purpose is supposed to be therapeutic for me. I’m just going to say it’s hard co parenting with someone suffering with mental illness.

Today is National Mom and Pop Business Day. The backbone of America. An institution that has been through a tough period due to Covid and Amazon.

Everyone knows my passion for hotdogs and pizza. If I’m getting a hotdog I don’t go to Portillos. Portillos is a corporation that isn’t even a Chicago business anymore.

I love the story how Dick Portillo started with nothing and lived the American dream. Let people in Louisville or Omaha or Phoenix enjoy his low quality knockoffs.

If you live in Chicagoland you need to get your hotdog from a Mom and Pop joint. It’s time to give a another family a shot at the American dream.

When I want a hotdog I go to Parkys, Pete’s or Little Joes.

Pizza….. we have so many great choices for pizza in Chicagoland. Giordonas, Aurielos and Lou Malnatis are not those choices. Let them send their cardboard ketchup through mail order to Taiwan and Texas. I can’t list my pizza places because I have so many choices.

All I will suggest is to find a place within a mile of your front porch. Make sure they have a great oven and see if they have kids going to a school in the neighborhood.

This is your pizza place!

It’s humpday and your mission is to have a meal at your favorite Mom and Pop restaurant. Italian, Mexican, Polish, Bohemian, German and Oriental. Go Local and help a business in the neighborhood. Don’t give your money to a conglomerate located in Boston.

Let’s not leave retail out of todays intentions. I know our choices have dwindled this last decade. Here is the other Humpday assignment…. buy local!

Post your suggestions…. Give a shout out to a local business that you support.

….and I guess the Morning Chalkboard ended up being therapeutic after all. I talked about hotdogs and pizzas rather than my problems and school shootings.

Though the problems didn’t go away. My day will start with a skip in my step and a smile between my chubby cheeks.

March 28th, 2023

 Songs trigger memories for me. They bring back time periods from the past, people from the past, events from the past.

There is a radio station in town that touts that they are the soundtrack to your life.

Do you have a soundtrack to your life?

Here is your assignment….

I’m going to give you a MAXELL XL-II C90 Blank Audio Cassette Tape that can hold seven songs on each side.

What are the fourteen songs that define you? Do you have a song that reminds you of me?

Today’s Morning Chalkboard quote comes from a song that reminds me of my mom.

The daily challenge on the Morning Chalkboard… 14 songs on the soundtrack of your life.

Have fun with this assignment. You can post it or just jot it down and reminisce. It’s Tuesday which is always a good day to find yourself

….in a daydream!

March 27th, 2023

 Late start this morning… I’m off my routine and don’t have much to say.

Today’s quote is from “The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse.”

Highly recommend it!

Today is National Whiskey Day… drink a little for me. I’m still off the booze until May 6th.

March 25th, 2023

 Towards the end of his life my father just waited for the day to come when he was to die.

When he was in his late fifties the company he worked for was bought out. He was an old fuddy dud so he was in the first group let go. He faced what many men face at that age. You can be replaced by a younger model at a cheaper price. It was devastating for him.

The next chapter that my dad turned the page into was just as hurtful. One by one his circle of friends started to die off. His phone stopped ringing as often and he had less people around that knew him.

He finally found himself in a retirement home with his last wife. Together they formed an alliance to just wait to die. His wife died and my dad was alone with a horrible quality of life.

Covid fortunately took his last breath and now he strolls the Magnificent Mile in Heaven.

Today I am at the same age where my father’s life started dying. Early 1990’s was about the time when each day wasn’t lived, but just spent waiting to die.

The Clinton years saw the downfall of my father. He lost a job that he loved. He lost friends that thought he was special. He lost his drive to put energy into the world.

Sure he still made the guy at White Hen smile when he bought the morning paper. He didn’t skip a beat being kind, but it was out of habit and not out of love. The passion just wasn’t there.

I’m thirty years younger than my Oldman. My 2020’s can very well be his 1990’s. Maybe my 2030’s or 2040’s end up those years where my passion is gone. The time where counting the days until death takes over the countdown to Mardi Gras or Christmas.

This morning is my 20,721st day since I showed up in Chicago. I asked Siri…. “Hey Siri? How many days ago was July 1st, 1966?”

“July 1st,1966 was twenty thousand, seven hundred and twenty one days ago… you old fat fuck.” In her sexy Siri British accent.

I’m not going to start writing the countdown until death on the Morning Chalkboard… not just yet.

You will hear me say that I have twenty eight summers left these next five months. Then you’ll hear me say that I have twenty seven summers left.

I say this because it’s a motivation not to take the Summer of 2023 for granted. Not to take Memorial Day of 2023 for granted. Not to take Thanksgiving and Christmas of 2023 for granted.

You’ll see Countdowns often on the Chalkboard. In fact I want you to know we have 282 days until Mardi Gras 2024.

I might not be checking off items on my bucket list right now. I don’t think I’ll be seeing the Eiffel Tower anytime soon, but I can see the sunset reflect off the Sears Tower.

I’m not going to have a scone and cup of tea in England this year, but I will have a hotdog on a picnic bench in the near future.

I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to make love with Julia Roberts. I don’t think I’ll ever go on safari in Africa with Morgan Freeman. I don’t think I‘ll cook a Sunday roast with Gordon Ramsay and I don’t think Oprah is going to interview me because of my philanthropy.

I am going to watch three children turn into solid adults. I will see the Bears win another Superbowl, the Sox a World Series, the Blackhawks another Stanley.

However…. I will also watch my circle of friends dwindle down. I will have a last closing bell at work and eventually I’ll look at a tree stump. All that remains from the tree of life that I once climbed in the Summer of 73. The tree that gave me shade in the Summer of 93. The tree that gave me kindling for a fire in the winter of 13.

The day when the tree nor I have nothing more to give…

On a less morbid note… it’s National Waffle Day! Go have a waffle with someone that thinks you are special.

March 24th, 2023

 Hazel must have moved my dream notebook off the nightstand. I went to grab it to jot down the specifics from a dream I had just before I woke up.

It was one of those late for work dreams. I usually have those on Monday morning’s not Friday morning. I’m at my dad’s house in Oak Park trying to find clothes to wear for work. I’m dreading that I have to take the Eisenhower in so I’m not super late.

There is a lot more detail to this dream that will wait for when I find my damn notebook.

The funny thing is when I went to reach for my dream notebook I grabbed the Squishmallow that Hazel left in its place.

The good news is I’m not going to be late for work. I don’t have to take the Ike to work and my daughter left a stuffed animal by my bed.

Pretty lame Chalkboard this morning. Maybe I’ll go back to sleep and see if there are any Old Styles in my dad’s icebox?

March 23rd, 2023

 I wrote down this quote with the idea that I’ll be able to come up with some good advice or a funny story.

I don’t have anything for you….

However it’s tamale day and I do love tamales.

I don’t like these tamales that come wrapped up in corn husks and are supposed to be the real deal. My tamale comes wrapped in paper. I don’t buy it from Juan on a corner somewhere in Pilsen. Real tamales are sold by guys named Anthony or Johnny.

When I think of tamales I think of the Chicago tamale. The Chicago tamale isn’t rolled on the thighs of Guatemalan virgins. They are made by an industrial machine that shoots out glorious tubes of cornmeal wrapped around some kind of meat. The meat is like a pasty chili base and the cornmeal is a rubbery yellow container. Wrapped and tucked in paper that says either TomTom or Supreme on it.

TomTom has been making Chicago tamales since the 1930’s and Supreme started in the 1950’s.

I come from a TomTom family. My dad was a TomTom guy and so am I.

It’s kind of like you’re either a Dominick’s or a Jewels family.

One of the reasons my ass cheeks are so round and sexy is because of these tubes of succulent flavor. When I go to the hot dog stand I’ll usually order my Chicago Trifecta, the Trinity of flavor. A Chicago hotdog dragged through the garden, a TomTom and another Chicago delicacy….. The pizza puff!

Did you know the PizzaPuff is another Chicago invention?

Now you do!

But that story is for the Morning Chalkboard on National Pizza Puff Day. Today is National Tamale Day.

Back to the Trinity of flavor. Now I love an evening at Gene and Georgetti’s for steak or a nice bowl of pasta at Rosebud. Though for me the perfect meal is eaten on a picnic bench outside a hotdog stand.

Stuffed in a brown greasy bag in the order they must be eaten. The tamale on top, the pizza puff in the middle and the hot dog on the bottom. A hotdog with a yellow condiment, not a red condiment.

Today is National Tamale Day. Don’t go out and get those squishy watery tamales wrapped in some kind of banana leaf. Get yourself a tamale tightly wrapped in paper with the words, “Made in Chicago since 1937.”

Remember…..

Tamale

Pizza Puff

Hotdog

My go to for this combination of flavor is Pete’s on the Northeast corner of Ridgeland and Roosevelt.

Always buy your tamale from a guy with a Greek or Chicagonese accent. They sell authenticity.

If you really want to get exotic, you'll need to find a joint that makes the Chicago legend called "The Mother-in-Law Sandwich." Nothing screams hangover more than a guy sitting at a hot dog stand with his White Sox hat turned backwards throwing a Mother in Law down his pie hole.

Let me know where you go for tamales and enjoy this rainy Thursday......

March 22nd, 2023

 Today’s quote comes from the speech at the end of the movie “The Great Dictator.” The movie and the line were written by Charlie Chaplin. The movie was a satirical poke at hitler. It came out in 1940 when the nazi prick was taking over Europe.

(Note to editor: If someday the Morning Chalkboard becomes a book. Don’t correct the capitalization in the first paragraph. Those words stay lowercase.)

Chaplin nailed it, the world needs more kindness and gentleness.

No advice today. No touching stories today. Yesterday I had to post a dreaded obituary. Seems the older I get the more obituaries I recognize.

I read a book in high school called “Spoon River Anthology.” I think it was in your class John Young?

The book was written in 1915 by Edgar Lee Masters. It is filled with short verse poems. Each one is an epitaph for a resident in the town of Spoon River. It was a style of literature that caught my interest.

After we read the book we had to write epitaphs of people in our lives. It was a great assignment. I guess it prepared me for yesterday’s Chalkboard.

Our assignment this month is to watch “The Great Dictator” and read a copy of “Spoon River Anthology.”

Hurry up and get that done before baseball season starts.

Another tradition that I have is tied to the start of the baseball season. I try to read “The Natural” by Bernard Malamud every Spring. If you liked the movie, you’ll love the book.

When you read it you will think of Camelot. The book has an Arthurian theme. Roy Hobbs' bat was made from a tree struck by lightning. It is the sword in the stone. He plays for a team called “The Knights.” The entire book is full of symbolism that all came to light when I first read it in John Wieland’s creative writing class.

Alright it’s Wednesday…. Though the banker never wears a Mack in the pouring rain

…..and yes, that is very strange!

Bring your Mack these next few days. March will be March and rain is in the forecast.

And one more thing….. two more things.

…..Be Kind and call someone from the past. Invite them for a bowl of gumbo at Shanahans before one of you kicks the bucket.

March 21st, 2023

     I woke up to an obituary notice this morning. A kid that I worked with down on the trading floor. He was a phone clerk that gave me his business.

Danny was a few years older than I was and was raising a young family in Oak Park. Since we lived blocks away we became friends outside of the trading floor.

Danny was a quiet reserved man who often shook his head at my gregarious and loud approach to life. I stopped at his home a couple times in the mid 1990’s as Jumbo Claus. I ran into his family in the early 2000’s at the Oak Park Farmers Market.

I said hello to his children and his son immediately said, “you’re Santa Claus.”

That made me feel so good.

Danny came down to the trading floor as a guest just before it closed. I walked over to give him a hug and he was taken back. The look on the faces of the people in his group were very odd. Danny was suffering from dementia and I was told he had early Alzheimer’s.

“Hello Danny, I’m Jumbo from Oak Park. I stopped by your house to be Santa for your kids. We worked together on the old bond floor.”

He softly replied, “Oh yes…. Jumbo! You were a great Santa. We went to Shanahan's a lot for gumbo.”

“Yes we did, Yes we did! We need to get a bowl of gumbo soon!”

“Oh Jumbo…. That would be nice. Please call me or I’ll forget.”

“I’ll do that old friend! Soon!”

His group started to walk away and Danny turned around one last time. He had a confused look as he pointed at me.

“Jumbo, right? You’re Jumbo?”

… and then he walked away.

I never got that bowl of gumbo with Danny Irving.

I’ve lost many colleagues through the years. So many that you forget they are gone, but the memories last a long time. Well, they last for some of us.

Life is so short and so precious. It’s fragility often shows up at awkward times.

Danny never lost his cool amidst the chaos of the markets. He had a slight pitch that I could hear when he had an order. Then he would flash it to the trading pit calmly. Everything was smooth and low key with Danny. That’s what made him stick out in the sea of aggression at the Chicago Board of Trade.

His calmness.

Rest well Danny Irving. Find peace in eternal grace old friend.

March 20th, 2023

     I don’t think I recognized humility until I became a father. I was forty years old when George was born. That was the day when I finally became a man.

We were invited to a wedding when George was about six months old. The wedding invitation said that children were invited. This was the first and only wedding that I brought a diaper bag.

I didn’t know many people at the wedding so George was a great excuse to be anti social.

I gave George a bottle when we were at the church. After he finished it off I burped him before he got fussy during the ceremony. He burped fairly easy and moments later left spit up on the lapel of my suit.

Here I am sitting in a church at a wedding for people I barely know. My baby boy just left smelly formula phlegm on my suit and I couldn’t reach a wipe.

This is where the definition of humility comes into play.

For the rest of the evening I had a crusty white spot on my suit. When I had conversations with people their eyes would gravitate to my lapel. George’s mom let me know several times during the evening that I needed to get that suit to the cleaners immediately.

I didn’t care!

That blob of spit up was my badge of honor. It was a mark of humility that I wore proudly. This showed the world that I was a dad. I handled that baby barf like a champion and left that wedding a better man.

I look back at the day George was born. The first moment that I held him in my arms. I can hear Kate Bush singing “This Woman’s Work.” That was the day fatherhood humbled me.

I couldn’t tell you the names of the bride and her husband from that wedding. They could walk by me on the street and I wouldn’t recognize them.

They might recognize me as Terri’s ex husband, the guy who had white crap on his suit at their wedding.

I give two shits….

Though I would like to tell them that their wedding day was a lesson in humility for me.

The NCAA has it’s Sweet Sixteen. Brackets are in shambles…

We are on the downslope to April. Spring breaks are starting up and summer will be here before we know it.

Buckle up Chalkheads, Spring has Sprung!

March 19th, 2023

 For every asshole in the world there are ninety nine wonderful people. Being an asshole makes you stick out more. Wonderful people don’t bring attention to themselves. This is the reason the world seems so negative these days. All the attention is going to the assholes.

The Age of the Asshole started in the early nineteen nineties and has grown stronger into the new millennium.

I watch the network news at 5:30 every evening. Thirty minutes of news, twenty nine minutes of bad news and the last minute of the show with a feel good story.

We get pummeled with war, murder, scandal and politics for twenty nine minutes. The world’s shitshow has been thrown in our face and then they give us a slight look into the good of humanity.

I don’t know why I watch the local and network news so religiously?

Well, yes I do!

Because my Oldman watched the news every night. My dad also read the Trib and Sun Times when they cost thirty five cents. Those papers were as big as your sisters ass….35 cents!

One of the guys at work brought a Sun Times in on Thursday and Friday so we had the spreads for the NCAA.

Two Bucks! Two Bucks for something smaller than my high school paper.

The Age of Asshole has put bad news at our fingertips, but I say the bad news stops right here..... right now.

Time to make the world with twenty nine minutes of positive humanity. Then save that last minute for some asshole who didn’t use his directional when he was turning into The Jewels parking lot.

It’s Saint Joseph’s Day… Before we get to the Italians, let the Christians give thanks to a Jewish carpenter. A Jewish carpenter who married a pregnant teenager and helped her raise a radical kid.

Now the Italians…. Today is a day of Faith for them, but also a day surrounded with Family and Friends.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

F:F,F,F

That’s right…. Today is a day we build the FOUNDATION with FAITH, FAMILY and FRIENDS.

But these "Eye"talians take it a step further and add an extra “F” today……. FOOD!

Oh and is it wonderful!

How great was this weekend?

The Irish had their holy day on a Friday and the Italians get their holy day on a Sunday. It’s fitting because Friday is a great day to over indulge in whiskey and beer. Sunday is a great day to feast on gravy and pasta.

Happy Saint Joseph’s Day… Happy Sunny Sunday and Happy Sweet Sixteen Sunday.

Work hard to end the Age of the Assholes. Do your share to end this dark chapter in humanity.

I will leave you with an earworm….

“This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, Aquarius, Aquarius…. And love will steer the stars.”

March 18th, 2023

 It’s March 18th and I don’t have a hangover. The perfect storm appeared yesterday as Saint Patrick’s Day fell on a Friday and NCAA basketball was in full throttle.

Many of you posted pictures out at the bars having fun while I was at home watching “The Quiet Man.”

Hazel didn’t have any interest in ”this old kind of movie,” but she did pick up on Maureen O’Hara.

“I bet you only like this movie because that lady has red hair!”

Well that was one of the reasons when I first watched this movie many years ago. I couldn’t tell Hazel that I loved redheads before I met her mother. I sure as hell can’t tell her on the day she was born, God told me….

…”Shepley! You love redheaded women so much! You now have a daughter with red hair!”

God loves pulling pranks on us. Someday I’m going to have a talk with him about his sense of humor.

It is going to be a cold, I mean really cold Saturday. It’s the middle weekend of March and it’s going to feel like the last weekend of January.

I told all of you Chalkheads that we were going to pay the price for a mild winter. I think the twenty eight up on the Chalkboard is a little bit high.

Anyway, we have college basketball and Six Nations rugby. A depleted England takes on the number one rugby team in the world, Ireland.

Stay warm and hug the people that you love….

March 17th, 2023

 I will be laying on the couch this evening watching ”The Quiet Man.” Hopefully Hazel snuggles on my hip and creates a memory.

I have so many great Saint Patrick’s Day memories. I wouldn’t know where to start. How I never ended up in a police station is a miracle.

Danny Boy Haas and I split a sixer of Old Style with a couple girls on the Lake Street one year. We went to the parade when it was still on Dearborn Street many moons ago. After an afternoon of drinking way too much green beer we decided to get more for the ride home.

It’s illegal to drink on the CTA. It’s more illegal when you’re twenty. The girls thanked us for the beers and got off at Central.

Yes Central…..

….Danny and I were hoping to get a little Brown Sugar on Saint Patty’s.

I got off at Ridgeland and stumbled home. Waiting at home was an aggravated father. It was the last time my father sent me to my room. He didn’t like my “F*** me I’m Irish” button. I didn’t get a chance to try the corn beef and cabbage his wife had made.

Maybe I’ll tell Hazel this story tonight after the movie? Or maybe I’ll save this one for never!

God bless the Irish…… I guess that means all of you today. Tip your bartender heavy and stay hydrated.

What I wouldn’t do for an Old Style with Danny Boy Haas. I’ll have to settle for a juice box with Hazel….. which will someday be a great Saint Patrick’s Day memory.

March 16th, 2023

 

I was sound asleep early on a Saturday morning the summer that I turned nineteen. I was woken up by my dad yelling from the first floor.

                     “You have ten minutes to get ready and be in the car…. We’ve got things to do, people to meet, breakfast to eat.”

I rolled over and smashed the pillow over my head. The pillow wasn’t thick enough to absorb the following attempt to get me out of bed.

Six thirty in the morning and a British Military Band started marching through the living room. Led by my father through the dining room and down the basement steps to my bedroom.

The bedroom door flew open and standing in the frame was my dad repeating what he previously said as the blankets are ripped off my bed.

The Coldstream and Grenadier Guard continued to march through the speakers of my dad’s stereo in the living room. Luckily my dad marched back up the stairs without noticing the Old Style bottle on my nightstand.

Ten minutes later I’m sitting in the front seat of my dad’s Cadillac filled with cigarette smoke and WGN on the radio. Not good for a nineteen-year-old with a hangover.

Our first stop was Oak Park Bank on the corner of Marion and Lake Street. Then we walked up the street to the travel agent. My dad had long conversations with both the bank teller and the travel agent. Everyone loved talking with Don Shepley. I just wanted breakfast.

We finally walked into the diner across the street from the bank. The hostess sat us down, handed us our menus and poured our coffee.

A few minutes later the waitress came to take our order. She was a knockout. I could barely stammer my order to her because I was so taken back by her beauty. My Dad smirked at me and shook his head....

                   "My son has a hard time with the English language and seems to be enthralled in your beauty.”

Don Shepley always took the opportunity to embarrass his son. The waitress smiled at me as she took our menus. After she walked away my dad continued to grill me about my awkward breakfast order.

He asked me what I was attracted to the most about our waitress. That summer was the time in our relationship when my dad treated me less as a boy and more like a man. The conversations were more about politics, current events, historic events and women.

I was always nervous talking about the last subject with my dad, but that didn’t stop me that summer morning.

                        “I like her cleavage through the buttons of her shirt dad and I like her legs.”

My dad sat across the table and shook his head. He took a long sip of his coffee and started telling me about his philosophy on female anatomy.

“Son, it’s not about tits and ass. There are so many other things about a woman’s appearance.”

Now I’m in for a sex education lesson from my dear old father before my omelet arrives.

                     "Come on Moose, she has a gorgeous mouth. Her lips are full, and her smile is heavenly. That is the first thing you should have noticed.”

I’m sitting there listening to my dad tell me the waitress has a beautiful mouth. I just want to eat breakfast and get out before my dad gets another chance at embarrassing me.

That was the day I learned that there is more about women than just boobs and booty. One of many things I learned at a breakfast table from my dad.

Today is Lips Appreciation Day. If you have someone that lets you lock lips, take advantage!