just keep walkin' preacher man

music: neil young - harvest moon
mood: comme ci comme ca

Sometimes I just don't get my dad. It's like he's an alien from the planet christian, suddenly and without warning. He gets all full of religiosity and foists some stupid email upon me with orders to pass it on or whatever. Today it was the petition to reinstate prayer in public schools. I'm sorry, but wtf? I don't think I've ever seen my dad pray, let alone have an opinion about it being in public schools. I've seen the photos of him in his little white robes and such but it's so incongruous with the man I actually know, who stomps around yelling "god-dammit Linda, where's my SPAM?!"
I can understand the patriotic stuff with flags and whatnot, since he's so into the whole "I'm a vet, god bless the usa." He grew up on the rez and that's the way you're taught. All of the Pedersons up north MN are the same way. Guns, God, and big damn snowmobiles. And there's always a dead deer hanging in someone's basement.
When Grandma Kerrig (nee Pederson nee Rabanus, a German Jewish woman marrying an Indian in the uber prejudiced Iron Range, was she just the ballsiest woman alive?) was dying I drove up to Bemidji (blizzard, 6 hours) to get my dad from the small airport. He hadn't seen any of the family for 14 years, ever since he tossed his twin sister (Auntie Luella) and his mother (the aforementioned ballsy chiquita) out on the lawn of his home in Mira Mesa, and told them they could fuck off and die right. I'm realizing there's a story in a story in a story here, but I'll try not to digress too much.
I drove up to get Dad when we found out the old bat was dying of liver cancer and had about 2 weeks to live. She ended up making it 3, cause she was tough as old shoe leather. I knew Dad was going to be nervous for lots of reasons. He was the one in the family who as a child got picked on the most, just for starters. There are 10 in that batch of Pedersons, and some of them are not particularly nice to begin with. My Dad is actually the best of the bunch, although I hadn't been sure of that until I met everyone. Yikes. Scary folk.
The first thing Dad wanted to do was buy liquor, and he hardly ever drinks, so that surprised me. One miller lite every few months is usually his limit, although he usually keeps one bottle of decent Scotch in the cupboard for special occasions. He'll bust it out for company. It's very cute to see him do that. I don't believe I ever saw him drunk before that week that we visited the family. Imagine my shock when he bought a liter bottle of hard alcohol and started chugging it in the car. He was having a tough week so I didn't say word one about anything. I was prepared to just go with the flow.
We got to my uncle's place where we were supposed to be staying. Interesting people there. Mmm Hmm. Fish guts were everywhere and I got acquainted with farm life, quick. No hot shower then bed for me...a newborn calf was in the only tub. I was fairly comatose when we arrived but I vaguely recall being shouted at a lot, and made fun of right away for daring to drive a puny ford escort into the wilds of the north. All I wanted was to sleep but instead we were dragged out to the cow barn. It was seriously a LOT below zero, fucking freezing, and we were um...inspecting grain or something? No idea.
Dad and I were pure city folk in the midst of deep woods hooligans. I was vegetarian then, and just didn't eat for two days (beer goes a long way) until we drove to Black Duck (an hour at least) to get some grilled cheese. Dad wasn't eating either, but that was because he was terrified of what germs were propagating in that kitchen. Either way we were ordered to earn our keep by hunting. Dad took down a deer, and I got to wander the woods flushing deer, then I was ordered to help butcher.
Oh yes. How could I forget to mention the guns and god? Apparently all of these folk are serious jesus freaks, who had heard that I was a lesbian. yeah. So anyway I had a real fun time straightening that out (HA). But I can cock a Derringer, so that redeemed me in their eyes. Don't ask me to make that make sense. It just...was.
*shudder*
The fact that my dad escaped that life and never went back really impresses me. It takes a very strong or stubborn person to get away from that kind of net. How he made the break I don't know. He and his brothers all went to Viet Nam, but he and Jimbo never returned to the great white north. After that visit I will always be extremely grateful that I wasn't raised that way.