Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Reality... or Something

Yesterday I wrote "Oh, and all the stories my dad tells about his school days? Apparently there's very little truth in any of those tales... No one else remembers stuff the way my dad does."

I mean I know my dad's stories aren't 100% true... otherwise they probably wouldn't be very entertaining... but the other people at the reunion didn't really seem to remember any of the events he talks about... constantly.

There's one story he tells and tells and tells... I've heard it for years... and as this reunion kept getting closer and closer... he kept telling the story more frequently.

His story goes like this:

"My classmate, Geraldine, had a "teddy bear coat".  (He described it as a fuzzy winter coat with long furry sleeves and a big fuzzy hood... maybe like the one above.)

One night when we were in junior high the two of us skipped out of the PTA meeting and found an unlocked car in the parking lot.

Really? You hussy, Geraldine... and, actually, all the cars were probably unlocked back in the '40s...

After being in the car for a while... Geraldine said to me, "Quintin, if we are going to make a go of this relationship... we are really going to have to work at it."

At this point, I (in all his junior high wisdom) panicked and ran."

Well, guess what? In his sharing of the story at the reunion... I learned a few things:

Geraldine... always hated being called Geraldine... She went by "Gerri"... My dad claims he never knew that.

Gerri said she never owned a "teddy bear coat"... she said that was her cousin, Phyllis. Oops, wrong girl.

Gerri said this never happened.

So what is true? Well, my father is adamant that he remembers the story correctly. His memory is fine. She's a liar.

In fact, yesterday, after I said Gerri claimed she never owned a "teddy bear coat"... he said to me in a loud, angry, indignant voice:

"I remembered that story just the way it happened. Geraldine had a coat like that. She's a liar. I remember that story perfectly, Bevy."

Yeah, your memory's great, dad. By the way, I'm Sally.


  1. Hahaha by the way I'm Sally. Love it. Ohhhh your dad, what a hoot.

  2. Don't you just 'love' how they are always 'right!' I am sure my Dad thinks I am the one with the fuzzy memory and not him. They remember the bits that tickle their old memories, and have swept the boring (often true) bits away ... gotta hand it to your Dad, though, with this tale ... J