In life, one could divide people into two categories, the Ernies and the Berts.My dad is a real Berty Bert and I am such an Ernie, I even have an Ernie laugh.
The result of this combination? I have a lot of stories to share here that could start with the title, "Poor Dad."
The one I will tell tonight happened when I was in eighth grade.
It was a pretty normal school day, except that my dad was going to pick me up for a dental appointment or something mundane like that. At the time, I attended a school that was designed in a classical California school architecture that emphasizes outdoor space. This meant that the student body ate lunch outside on the quad. When my dad showed up, he had to walk through the quad to get to the main office to check me out of school. The poor Bert thought it would be funny to walk up behind me and say hi. And what is the cardinal rule of Bert and Ernie? Ernie always plays the funny guy against the straight man. Berts like my dad should never try to upstage and Ernie.
So when Dad tried to play sneaky by walking up behind me where I was sitting with my friends and put his hand on my shoulder, I turned to look at him and yelled, "Aaahhh! I don't know who you are!" and ran away.
When I was a safe distance, I looked back to see a swarm of school security people swarming in on poor ol' Dad, and I noticed something. My dad has the most piercing, I-am-gonna-kill-you-when-we-get-home blue eyes.
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You are welcome to comment or contribute stories of you have of something Justinish. Please keep in mind, though, that my kids may read this blog someday, so be a little tasteful in the language you use.