Thank You

I often fail to verbalize to my parents how truly great they are to have as parents. Not only do they feed me exotic foods that I could never afford on my own such as meat, cheese and cereal they are a source of constant entertainment. Below is a Sears styled image we took in front a a picturesque photo studio backdrop. Just kidding. It's actually in front of Sylvan Lake in Libby, Montana (unbeknownst to us, a murder had taken place there only days previous). None the less it's absolutely beautiful as there were 9 moose frolicking in the distant background.

As far as the constant entertainment, you might be wondering, well here it is. Pa! finally mustered up the courage to step on the scale. He went upstairs only to drag the antediluvian scale downstairs because he thought he'd weigh less every inch closer to sea level. I suggested he try to weigh in on the moon but he didn't see the humor in that statement. He felt that his fighting weight may have slipped slightly beyond his normal featherweight status.

Watching him weigh in was quite comically. First he placed the weight at 180 and heard a hefty clunk from the balancer signaling he was no where near 180. "Damn. Thought it was worth a try." Then to the other extreme 230. "Oh, did you hear how loud that was?! At least I'm no where near 230!" The the slider is then pushed to the 200 mark, "Hmm, that was a little louder than I'd like to hear," he said. As the lead weight slid quickly past the 150, 175, 200lb mark, it became apparent that he'd breached several weight classes and wouldn't be challenging the svelte Sugar Ray Leonard to a bout anytime soon. After a couple more rounds of this game the final button-popping damage was accessed at 214.5 pounds; a mere Big Mac away from his all time best, or worst depending on perspective, weight of 217. Despite vehement opposition from me, Pa! also felt that every ounce counted and decided to fore go his undies at the official weigh in.

Pa! insisted I date this photo because "the next time you see me I'll look like Charles Atlas!"

(His words, definitely not mine)

So he's back to the Atkins "diet." He challenged me to a bet that he could lose 14.5 by Sept 2 (Campaign for Liberty convention in Minneapolis). I declined because, as much as I'd like to see him lose the weight, I know I won't be in Montana to tempt him with delicious Amish made pastries.

I mean how can you not laugh when you see shit like this on a startlingly frequent basis?!

Anyways, Ma and Pa!, thank-you for getting drunk and not having the self control pull out that blustering day in 1980. In addition, thanks for not aborting me 9 and a half months later even though you talked about it and, in retrospect, I bet there were days you wish you had opted for the ole' Irish scoop and toss. I appreciate my life. No matter where in the world I am at any given moment, I always look forward to the days when I can come back to Montana and be with you guys!