GCX3

Pruneface Parkinglot Pruitt

Rev up your engines, the GCX3 model is due this October. This means my daughter is giving birth to my third grandchild this October.  I have two strapping grandsons named Brogan and Beckett (born this August), soon to be All-American linebacker duo at the University of Oklahoma (if I have a say in it).  But my daughter is having a girl, which means I have to polish the shotgun and oil the rusty shovel and get my papa language and evil eye back into practice with the old alert,

You see that girl there young man?  That’s my granddaughter.  You make her cry, I make you cry – capiche?  She wants you gone, you are gone.  See this gun and shovel?  I’m an expert with them.  I’m a grandfather!

My daughter will never admit it, but I scared every single young man who came near me.  They’d run to the door, ring the bell and then run like a banshee back to their car waiting for her to run equally like a banshee to escape.  Luckily my son-in-law is in the military, so he understands rank and respect, well, okay, rank then.

But it dawned on me.  Crap.  I’m old!  Gone are the days when girls whistled at me on the beach, nowadays when I hear whistling I suck in that gut as hard as I can, turning blue like William Wallace going into battle, with the expectation it was all about me, when in fact it was about some dog, marking his spot on my leg.

“Bad spot, bad spot..  you peed on the Uncle!”

EddieAuthorMy lawn guy tells me you know you are old when all the young girls call you “Uncle.”  That’s Hawaiian for “Old Fart.”  In English it means to surrender, capitulate, give in to the pain of a wrestling match you have no chance in hell winning.  So call me Uncle Hamish.  But… I won’t capitulate entirely, because I live in Hawaii and that makes me cool papa #1!  I will now go by the Rap stage name of 1CoolPapa.

Who’s yo daddy, who’s ya papa?
Who can take out the trash and sling the mopa?
I ain’t yo uncle and I ain’t ya momma
Cuz I be beachin, Ima 1CoolPapa.

But, I digress. (If that rendition does not cure you of Rap, nothing will.)

So now as the hot Hawaiian days pass into college football season, I can sit back and plan all the trips we need to take to visit these miracles of life, so that I can spoil the daylights out of them.  It’s wonderful being a grandparent. I cherish every stinking Karma filled moment.  So if my kids get upset with me I’ll go back into my Gangsta Rap mode.

I was yo daddy, but now Ima papa
This gives me perks and for yo momma
You can throw me out and I still be smilin
Cuz during naptime I’ll be dialin and callin

You say the kids are now stinking rotten,
well that’s Karma or have ya forgotten!
I ain’t yo uncle and I ain’t ya momma
Cuz I be beachin, Ima 1CoolPapa.

Guess who doesn’t get invited for Christmas to deliver the drum, microphone, and amplifier sets?

Absurd?  You betcha!

Disclaimer – this rap material is a work of art and 1CoolPapa will sue the #@$%## out of ya if you so much as #*$&^ try to match if with a Barry Manilow tune !
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Just Chillin

Chillin

Whoever said, “like father like son,” was a genius.  Except now it is like grandfather, like father, like son.  Here is a weekend photo of the Greenlee men just chillin out, as my son would say, on a hot Saturday afternoon.  My generation might call it hanging out or hanging loose.  Who knows what my grandson will call it, but this is as priceless a generational picture as one could take.  My daughter took this photo with her Canon EOS Rebel T3i.  If she wanted to be, she could become a photographer, she’s got talent.

The weekend before the water was too cool and our grandson decided to anoint our bed when his dad allowed him to go Full Monty just a little too long between diaper changes.   That’s okay, I did the same with my son, in fact, one time as I was acting like all witless father’s do and while cooing my son, I was anointed in the face – like grandfather, like father, like son.

My readers need to put on Ray Ban sunglasses to keep from going blind, because we are three of the whitest white men you will ever see .  I am so pale  that my  grandson had to put on his Baby Ban sports shades.  Now, is that a hip grandchild or what?  Now notice the genetic inclination to place our right hands behind our necks? Like grandfather, like father, like son.  And how about that float?  Top class, eh?  It’s part of the grandparent oath to spoil their grandchild rotten.  One day he’ll ask daddy for a BMW and when he says no, I’ll remind my son of the floatie his grandpappy bought for him.  Am I rotten or what?

As one gets older we refer back to photos such as these.  One day I’ll be much older.  My son will be in the prime of his career and my grandson will be chasing some  young pretty lady.  They won’t have much time on their busy schedules (sniff, sniff) for poor old papa. A tear will come to my eyes about the days the Greenlee men trio were just chillin and grillin together.  Then I will pull out this photo and show to my grandson’s girlfriend,

Chillin2

My mother always said you need to live long enough to become a burden on your children and grandchildren.  I’ve decided to start early and embarrass him now – in front of my world wide audience. He’ll be so embarrassed he’ll become a monk and save himself much grief later on.  Oh by the way, he doesn’t have to pay any fees into the man club – there’s a nepotism clause.

Hey – just chill out!  I didn’t go the Full Monty with him.  That’s later!

Today, please love a child, a grandchild or any child who looks like they just need someone to smile at them.  They are precious gifts that supply lifelong unforgettable memories, laughs and smiles.

A Conversation About Death

Reaper

As a man the age of 53, I still hope to have another 25-30 years of life ahead of me.  Much of what determines my age of death is in my genetics.  My grandparents averaged around the age of 84.  That gives me about 31 more years.  However, anything can happen in between and I mean anything.  If I was told my life would end tomorrow what would I do?  I’d have a steak, sauteed mushrooms, mashed potatoes, white gravy with a dozen fresh baked rolls. Oh, and a slab of bacon. Afterwards I’d enjoy a few rounds of beer and a cigarette.  Yes that’s right, a cigarette.  29 years ago I gave up, cold-turkey, a 2-1/2 pack a day habit as a promise to my pregnant wife that I would set an example for our son who was on the way.   Did I quit just for my wife?  Not really, I knew the outcome if I continued to smoke.  I wanted to live much longer.

This last week my son, who never took up smoking, sent me an email wanting to know what I would have to say if I called my grandson to my death bed with my dying breath.  Here’s what I’d say, “I love you Brogan.  Give life your absolute best. Have dreams, for dreams are the directions  for the actions to be taken.  If you respect me, then respect your parents. Don’t take things too seriously, especially high school and girls. Remember the fun things we did together.  Oh, one last thing – pull my finger!

I want laughter to be mixed with the tears.  If he ever talks about me it will be something like this, “You know what that old-fart did to me?”  Since I know my family line and his mother’s line, there is a good chance of frequent flatulation and I will always be on his mind.  See, you have to think ahead.

This morning my wife and I, as we do very often, discussed friends and family and how life had not gone as we had planned and hoped, but that we would stand side-by-side no matter what, a commitment to an ageless and sacred vow I still recall and will honor as a man. We talked about people who seem to be waiting for something, instead of making something happen.  I told my wife should I die early, our vow would end and to grieve no more than a month for me, then get busy living.  There is to be no funeral, but a party to celebrate my life. I will be cremated and cast to the seas.  I also made it clear I do not want to prolong my life with machines or man-made chemicals.  Let me fart one last time and then let me go.  As Aragorn said in The Lord of the Rings, “I do not fear death.”  I have faith there is an afterlife.

As a CPA, I have had to deal with death in the form of financial advice and estate issues.  I’ve seen the very best and the very worst of human nature in dealing with death and money. In the coming years, I will have to deal with the death of my parents.  In my mind I believe I am prepared, but tell that to my heart.  Watching a parent age, suffer illness and begin the process of losing memory is difficult, but a stage of life not few of us escape by a sudden death.  In those waning days of the winter of life, we will find what we are truly made of. We will also begin to address our own mortality and decide what to do with the remaining time given.

However, my wife and me also decided that a conversation about death is self-defeating, and that we would convert all our energy and thought to living every single moment.  I would rather die in my death bed and say, “Well I wrote 50 books in my lifetime and made 50 bucks” than to say, “I wished I had written that book.”  Failure to live life is the actual loss of life. You are still going to die whether the critics loved your work or not. Take a chance and self publish your story.  Some call it vanity, when in fact they say this as they stand before the mirror of envy. Do not let anyone, fame, or money define your self worth.

Maybe this week you should have a conversation about death.  Hopefully it also creates the discussion for the passion of living.  From there let it flow from discussion to action.  You need not be rich to live a fulfilling life.  In my trilogy, The Chosen One of Allivar, I present a reader with an interesting take on both life and death. The story is an epic adventure story, but a story, that should have you thinking about the fragility of life.  I know this much, you reach a certain age and time rapidly flees from you, like a fart in the wind.

“All men die, not all men really live.” William Wallace

“Get busy living, or get busy dying.” Andy Dufresne