June 15, 2014
(I wrote this several years ago, but it’s one of my favorite memories of my dad, so… here you go!)
When I was 16 and used to cheerlead at the basketball games (Whatever. Like you hadn’t already totally figured that out about me…), we had this SUPER cute call-back cheer we did, you know, to encourage crowd involvement and overall school spirit and shizz? We would turn to the crowd and shout out, “Hey, Badgers! How do you feel?!” and they would stand up and shout back, “We feel good! Oh! We feel so good! UH!” with an exuberant hip thrust thrown in. It was awesome. Because an enthusiastic and well-executed community hip thrust is the ultimate in school spirit, y’all. It’s, like, cheerleading GOLD. No, seriously. A thing of beauty. And crowds of hyped-up teenagers LOVE that crap. Ask anyone.
Anywhos, my father, in all his cuteness, would sit in the crowd waiting anxiously for a lull. And when that lull inevitably came, as lulls inevitably DO, he would stand in the bleachers, cup his hands around his mouth, and shout out, “HEEEEEEEEEYYYY! CHEEEEEEEERRLEADEEERS! HOW! DO! YOU! FEEEEEEEEEL?!”
Well, of course, we had to turn to the crowd and shout back, “We feel good! Oh! We feel so good! UH!”– hip thrust and all. It was required. I mean, we couldn’t just ignore it. That would be sacrilege, right? And WAY rude.
My cheer friends would giggle as we turned back to the game and whisper to me, “You’re dad is so cute!”
A moment later, a familiar voice would again echo across the courts, “HEEEEEEEEEYYYY! CHEEEEEEEERRLEADEEERS! HOW! DO! YOU! FEEEEEEEEEL?!”
We would look at each other and shrug. Well, I may have rolled my eyes. Perhaps.
“We feel good! Oh! We feel so good! UH!”
After the fifth time my lovely padre would stand in the bleachers and shout, in, oh, say, a FIVE MINUTE TIME FRAME, my “Uh!” would be more like an “AAARRRGGGGHHH!” and my face would be burning as with the fiery hot flames of the damned and I would cheer– oh yes, I would!– whilst smilingly planning imminent retribution in the form of Chinese water torture or perhaps The Sneer.
Cute, Dad. REAL CUTE.
Thinking back, I guess I should just be thankful the man was not up on his pop culture and was therefore oblivious to the thrall of “We Will Rock You” or we’d have had him stomping in the stands screaming, “You got mud on yo’ face! You big disgrace! Kickin’ your can all over the place!”
Funny thing is, my friends honestly thought it was cute. They would often tease me about how funny and cute they thought my dad was. And though I would not have admitted it for all the Aqua Net and hair crimping irons in Prescott, nay, nor for all the fluorescent gel-strapped Swatch watches in Switzerland (or as many as I could cram onto one, thin little wrist, anyway…), truthfully? Though I would not have breathed a word then, it always made me feel happy– special– that he was there, watching. Paying attention. Being my dad. And though I often sneered, and was all, “Daaaaaaaaad! STOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!” and wished for the earth to swallow me up the frickin’ TWELFTH time he would shout “Hey, Cheerleaders!” at us, I never loved him more.
So, Dad? When my children complain about me screaming, “Woo-hoo! You GO, girl! Drop it like it’s HAWT!” at their ballet recitals, or “Oh, YES! He got GAME!” at chess club tournaments, I will make sure they know that I only do it because I love them and it is ALL YOUR FAULT.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
December 25, 2010
December 22, 2008
Click on the image below for this year’s Lambson Family Newsletter: Holiday Edition 2008. (Or download the PDF. Whichev.) Because I want to save a tree, that’s why! Also, I am disorganized and often quite lazy.
Happy freaking HOLIDAYS!
December 11, 2008
While watching The Miracle on 34th Street— not the TOTALLY awesome 1947 version starring Natalie Wood and Maureen O’Hara, but the disappointing 1994 remake with Richard Attenborough, who, BTW, I cannot watch without remembering his turn as Jacob in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and shouting– er, singing, “Jacob! Jacob and sons!” because AWESOME MUSICAL?!– the ever romantical Allison rushed to the defense of Bryan Bedford, played prettily by Dylan McDermott, after he proposed to Dorey Walker and she freaking SHOT HIM DOWN in the street like Atticus did to rabid old Tim Johnson, except not with a gun or bullets, but figuratively, or the show would have ended WAY differently, you know what I’m saying?
In response to Dorey’s unbelievably harsh “Have I ever done anything to give you the impression I wanted to marry you?” speech– which, Dorey, have you met Dylan McDermott?! Good LORD, woman! Are you INSANE?! He has, like, the DREAMIEST EYES ever! And the HAIR?! Hello?!– Allison turned to me, her misty eyes glittering behind her glasses.
“What?!” she cried. “She DID give him the impression she wanted to marry him! She DID! I mean, she kissed him”– she paused for emphasis– “ON! THE! LIPS! Like, mmmwah, mwahmm!”– here she made out with her hand a bit, which was a little disconcerting, let me tell you– “and she held his HAND, and… and… she went on a DATE with him!” She threw her arms in the air, obviously disgusted with Dorey’s loose moral standards. “Right, Momma? Right?!” she asked– rhetorically, I hope, because I was too busy trying not to giggle to answer– then she folded her arms across her chest with a little “hmmph!” and turned back to the movie.
Granted, the Dorey character does lose a little in translation, making this scene even harder to take, because, again, woman, do you not see the DREAMY EYES?! Come on! Plus, a single mom– not a widow, but a *gasp* divorcee!– trying to make it in the 1940’s business world was playing in an entirely different ballgame than today’s single working mom. Where Maureen O’Hara’s Doris was sympathetic as a realist trying to raise her daughter to accept the hard facts of life that would have been relevant to a single working mom at that time, modern Dorey’s mopeyness and glacial heart made me think, “Dude, a little Lexapro would be a Miracle on 34th Street for THAT lady, I tell you what.”
So, for a second I wasn’t sure if I should explain to my nine-year-old daughter that, in all honesty, smooching and hand-holding and dating aren’t quite the binding evidence of True Love she apparently thinks them to be, so TECHNICALLY the spurned luvah’s proposal was both arrogant and presumptuous (but, dreamy eyes?!), or if I should just let it go.
“I know, right?” I agreed, folding my arms across my chest in solidarity and cross disapproval. “Shocking.”
October 31, 2008
Why do people go so crazy with the Halloweeniness? Which is a word I just made up but am now rethinking?
Is it because we can say “Happy Halloween!” with no compunction about having perhaps offended someone who doesn’t celebrate Halloween? Someone who hates candy corn and all it stands for? Someone who has bizarre, grotesquely horrific nightmares because her delicate constitution can’t handle the horror flicks everyone else seems so fond of and everyone mocks her and stops inviting her to their stupid scary movie parties? (Hey! “The Shining” is freaking SCARY! Blood in the elevator shaft?! Totally clingy ghost twins?! And– oh, dear lord!– REDRUM?! Well that’s just great. Now I’m going to have NIGHTMARES. Thanks, Halloween!)
Sorry. My issues. Shut up or I will CUT YOU.
Or perhaps someone who maybe doesn’t believe in spooks, thank you very much? Like the Cowardly Lion? Although I would argue that Mr. C. Lion was in fact deathly afraid of spooks, but that is neither here nor there. Or here. Or over thataway. So whatever.
Because if that is the case, then whoa there, Nelly! Because Halloween? Hello Samhain meets All Saints’ Day meets All Souls’ Day! Hello, crazy jumbled pagan-meets-Christianity holiday celebration!
And let’s be honest… Putting aside the not-so-subtle undertones of religious syncretism, I can’t be the only person who sees that the so-called “holiday” totally promotes begging as a valid lifestyle choice, with parents actually ENCOURAGING their children to disguise themselves and importune the neighbors for candy! Right?! Shaking ’em down, right there at their very own door! I mean, what the..?!
And I’m not just saying this because a bag of Halloween candy costs just short of seven dollars. For ONE MEASLY BAG! Or because my kids come home with enough candy to keep them in sugar well through the new year. Nope. No, indeedy.
It’s the principle of the thing, is all.