A Toast...

Years ago I wanted to create two blog spaces, both about my parents, whom are now divorced. My father, who is American of Dutch descent, was raised on a farm which is now labeled a century farm in Oregon.  He grew up in a large Catholic family with more children then I have fingers to count.  We will call him Neon, like the light, which is actually his real name.  He is probably the smartest person I have had the chance to meet.  His child rearing techniques were certainly interesting, and of course always pushed the limits of mental ingenuity and creativity. (For example, he would read me Shakespeare and Schiller followed by full adult explanation and conversation, while all my classmates were reading The Baby Sitters Club.)  He is also pretty hilarious, has a nickname for everyone, and will try to get your goat whenever he can, which only adds to the random discourse that can occur with him. I wanted to create a blog with random questions I would ask him and see what his response would be to them. As most likely, he would have a response to all of them.  This of course was foiled when Shit My Dad says was created, (the t.v. show and I know there is a Facebook page with outrageous sayings from someone's father). That was my idea! At least in part!

My mother came to America as a Vietnamese refuge during the war. No, I was not a war baby and most people don't even know I'm Asian at all, as I acquired the Dutch height from my father. Anyway, I digress. With my mother, I wanted to document all the crazy ass shit she says to me, the majority of which revolves around me being a married woman in my early 30s, with a husband who refuses to impregnate me. That's right, she wants her grandchildren and it's entirely his fault at this point.  No will or reason will convince her otherwise. He is on her naughty list, or possibly at the bottom of the good son list or favorite children list.  She does not hold back on her right as an Asian woman to demand the creation of her grandchildren.  In doing so, she is constantly scheming new ways to procure their creation. With this little introduction being said, please read on, cuz this shit does get funny! Just imagine my itty bitty little mother of 65 unleashing her asian furry upon my ears with a thick Vietnamese accent, or entirely in the Vietnamese language when she wishes to talk smack about my husband right in front of him without him knowing.  Well, he knows she is talking smack, as the intonation is unmistakeable, but the content is empty to him. (Except for the foul words I originally taught him in my attempts to "teach" him the language, hehe). BTW, my mother shall be called Bac, which is her real American English name she acquired when she came to the states, which also means woman in Vietnamese, which is an entirely different story as to how her first name ended up being Woman....

So, to end my little introduction I give a toast, to all the shit my parents say and all the stories I have to write.