I’d like to thank my dad

Today is confession time. I have a rare, inherited condition. My father has it. So do my siblings. And some of the younger generation. What is the condition, you ask? I give too much detail.

When my darling dad of 87 tells a story, he gives the background, the foreground and every other possible angle that might relate to the story.  And you know what? So do I. And so do both my brothers and my sister. A few of my nieces and nephews have inherited it either fully or in part, and – for the two little girls in the fourth generation, it is still too early to tell but they might well show signs of wordiness.

My husband has started a support group for the rolling-eyed in-laws, and has co-opted my darling long-suffering mum of 83, who all have to put up with our lengthy tales. Both of my sons would happily join as they, along with their dad, prefer headlines to body copy.

Some years ago, when my elder son started at high school, he went to an orientation evening at his school: a grade 8 social. His dad fetched him from the event, and I couldn’t wait to see him and hear all about it. After my customary mommy hug, I said to him (and I don’t think I’m exaggerating): “How was it? Did you have fun? Who did you meet? Were you with any of your friends? Who are your new friends, and what are their names and where did they go to junior school and where do they live? What did you do? Did you stand next to people you didn’t know?” With a sigh, and a shifting from foot to foot, he eventually said, “Mom! When Dad picked me up, he asked me if the evening was cool. I said yes. And Dad was happy with that.”

Point taken.

I do notice at times when I speak to my husband that his expression shifts to screen saver. I can tell you the exact point when I’ve lost him, but usually I persevere until he comes back. My sons are the same. I can tell them wonderfully interesting stories and realise that they have not listened to a word. Although I understand they do hear some of what I say. My younger son said to me once, “Mom, you know at the Oscars, when actors are giving their acceptance speeches and their time is up, and the music goes up? That’s what often happens when you’re talking; the music goes up in my mind. And I can’t hear any more.”

They both did say that if I throw in keywords – and I won’t mention their suggested words – they start listening again.

So thank you, faithful readers of my blog, for coping with my detail. Or has the music already gone up for you?

Sunshine signing off for today!


16 thoughts on “I’d like to thank my dad

  1. Another thing we have in common, Sunshine! I think being willing to share our lives is what makes us good bloggers. Not half an hour ago, I told Jim I didn’t want to do a short “half-assed” blog post.

    My brother and I used to complain when we’d ask my dad what we thought was a simple question, and instead of a sentence, we’d get a paragraph in answer! He’s still the same way!


  2. I can also identify with this. Maybe that condition isn’t so rare after all?! Although I tend to keep my stories shorter than my mother. I started a blog so that I could get all the “my stories” (which I find fascinating and my husband clearly does not) out. I’ve since found out that he actually reads my blog on a regular basis!

  3. at last I got time to be at the computer to catch up on your blog….oh – this is such fun – I hear and feel a book deal coming sometime soooon…..keep it up and keep on smiling!!!xxxx

  4. I, too, have the wordiness affliction. I loved the bit about your hubby going into screen saver mode. You funny, lady! One time I asked my partner where she goes when I am talking. She meditates! My daughter and ex used to always ask me for the “Readers Digest” version of a story. Thank God for blogging and lovely people like you!

  5. Thanks for that. My mum has a similar condition but I get lost in the minucia and circumstantiality. I sometimes wonder where we’re going. I suggest that if your husband rolls his eyes at you that you simply roll them back.

  6. Guilty. And then some.
    Except it’s worse cos I don’t just explain the whooooooooole story, I also explain that Grandpa would too…

  7. Love the part with your son and the music going up to signal the end of meaningful listening on his part. Funny stuff. And its always a pleasure to read good writing.

    Thanks for stopping by the blog.

    Take care,


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