Mama Dragon works hard at preparing family dinners. She's a great cook. The little Dragons don't appreciate it. Sister Dragon only eats vegetables now. Brother Dragon only eats steak. Papa Dragon likes sauces, Mexican food, and steaks, but won't touch the vegetables sister Dragon likes. Mama Dragon is a saint.
Lately Brother, who's about to go to college, has been staying at table long enough to ask questions: can you be married by the church, but not by the government?
Papa said, yes, this is possible, but almost all people married by a church would record their marriage with the government. There are some polygamous cults who might not do this to avoid being arrested for bigamy.
What's bigamy mean, asked Sister.
Bigamy's where a man marries more than one wife at the same time, said Papa.
I don't see why the government should have a law against that as long as the wives don't mind, said Sister.
We wouldn't want the young women to be exploited by older men. Some of the cults do that, said Mama.
There are already laws against exploiting girls. Why should the government stop people from marrying who they want, said Sister.
It would make God unhappy. Doesn't that bother you, said Papa.
I don't want to make God unhappy. I'm just playing Devil's Advocate, said the 13-year-old.
Papa Dragon tried to change the subject: who knows what surrogate means (stepping into his own trap).
Brother jumped at the opportunity to get into the conversation: That's like the Family Guy episode where Lois has a baby for the two gay guys who live next door.
Er ... that isn't exactly what I had in mind, but, yes, it is like Family Guy, said Papa.
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Monday, July 25, 2016
KIA Klucker
Some drunk called him a wop so grandpa threw the drunk through the window at Wikey's bar. Uncle Joe had to go down to the police station and bail out grandpa. Moral of the story: don't say the W word to Italian guys whose arms look like Rocky Marciano's on steroids... even an old Italian guy. "The only thing I'm sorry about is I broke Wikey's window and we were on the first floor." Fortunately for grandpa the judge was an Italian gentleman who let him off with a warning.
Wikey's was an old storefront neighborhood bar in East Boston near the Blue Line Orient Heights station. Grandpa stopped there at the end of the day on the way home from the North End where he ran two vegetable bays for a wholesaler. When the old guy died who owned the vegetable bays, grandpa inherited them. He was the son the old guy never had. When grandpa died his oldest son, Uncle Emil, sold the bays, too bad. If he'd held onto them they'd been real valuable after they built Quincy Market, but Emil was in medical school and Uncle Joe had a union job with the power company. They didn't have time for the vegetable business.
The vegetable business needed watching. My mother-in-law, Phyllis, remembers getting drafted to go through records and sort out how much one of the employees had stolen. That's when she found out where the oranges grandpa brought home to kids came from. As she watched through the office window, she saw her dad get pissed off at something and throw a crate of oranges against the wall. What was left that wasn't spoiled went home to the kids.
Grandpa hung out with Klucker and the guys at Wikey's. Klucker lived in a car parked in a vacant lot a few blocks down the street. It was the Depression. It wasn't unusual for people to live in vacant lots. On holidays and some weekends, grandpa brought Klucker and other vacant lot dwellers home for dinner.
When the war came, the draft board managed to find Klucker even though his only address was Wikey's. He got KIA somewhere. Maybe Europe. Maybe the Pacific. The Army sent the telegram that Klucker was gone to Wikey's. The bar's a tattoo parlor now.
Wikey's was an old storefront neighborhood bar in East Boston near the Blue Line Orient Heights station. Grandpa stopped there at the end of the day on the way home from the North End where he ran two vegetable bays for a wholesaler. When the old guy died who owned the vegetable bays, grandpa inherited them. He was the son the old guy never had. When grandpa died his oldest son, Uncle Emil, sold the bays, too bad. If he'd held onto them they'd been real valuable after they built Quincy Market, but Emil was in medical school and Uncle Joe had a union job with the power company. They didn't have time for the vegetable business.
The vegetable business needed watching. My mother-in-law, Phyllis, remembers getting drafted to go through records and sort out how much one of the employees had stolen. That's when she found out where the oranges grandpa brought home to kids came from. As she watched through the office window, she saw her dad get pissed off at something and throw a crate of oranges against the wall. What was left that wasn't spoiled went home to the kids.
Grandpa hung out with Klucker and the guys at Wikey's. Klucker lived in a car parked in a vacant lot a few blocks down the street. It was the Depression. It wasn't unusual for people to live in vacant lots. On holidays and some weekends, grandpa brought Klucker and other vacant lot dwellers home for dinner.
When the war came, the draft board managed to find Klucker even though his only address was Wikey's. He got KIA somewhere. Maybe Europe. Maybe the Pacific. The Army sent the telegram that Klucker was gone to Wikey's. The bar's a tattoo parlor now.
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