Happy Forced Love Day

If you really want to know what I think about Valentine's Day, read last years post.  Now go and kiss your loved one, darn it.

Father's Day Dance

I spent first grade in Dallas, Texas.  My parents were undergoing training with Wycliffe, getting all the necessary tools they'd need to do bible translation overseas.  I don't remember how, or under what circumstances, but my father and I were invited to a father/daughter square dance.  I was excited, spending many days leading up to the dance thinking about what it would be like, worrying that I didn't know how to square dance (Dad reassured me that the caller would lead us in the steps), and planning my outfit.  I knew just what I wanted to wear.  I had a jean skirt that I loved, and a plaid shirt.  I would be a cowgirl.  I would be glamorous.  I would float along the floor.

My excitement lasted right up to the moment when we walked through the gym doors, where the dance was being held.  The car ride with Dad had been so special, just me and him in the soft, velvety darkness as Dallas' city lights flashed by.  I admired the way my skirt draped over my boney knees.  I patted it down and crossed my ankles like I'd seen my grandmother do.  When we arrived at the dance, I clasped my dad's hand.  His was large, warm and comforting as we made our way across the parking lot to where light spilled from the open doors.  

Then we entered the gym.  My confidence dissolved like tissue paper left out in the rain.  The place was packed with strangers, and I suddenly felt unsafe.  I stepped closer to my dad.  It was loud, the lights were glaring.  Groups of girls and their fathers were twirling in the center of the room, and I stared, arrested.  They were.  Beautiful.  They had on short, flouncy dresses and shiny little dancing shoes.  After my eyes recovered from this vision of glamour, I became acutely aware of my jean skirt.  And plaid shirt.  And I was wholly inadequate in my own eyes.  

Just then, a loud lady with loud makeup ushered us to the photo corner and snapped a Polaroid.  "Smile!"  she cooed, drawling out the 'i' to give the word an extra syllable.

The rest of the night passed quickly, in a whirl of lights and music and 'Swing your partner round 'n round!'.  Finally we were in the car, driving home.  

"How was the dance, Danica?  What did you think?"  Dad said.

"Those girls.  Their dresses were so pretty,"  I whispered into the quiet darkness.

There was silence for a minute.  And then, "They did have fancy dresses.  But I think you looked pretty in your skirt.  And most of all I could see your pretty heart."  

Simple words.  But they made an ocean of gladness swell up inside of me.  

According to my Facebook feed, it's Valentine's Day

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!  Or, happy Hallmark Day.  Or, happy 'If-you-don't-do-a-grand-gesture-today-you-don't-love-me-even-though-you-tell-me-the-other-364-days-of-the-year' Day.  I mean, seriously, I am the original Valentine Scrooge.

The kids and I were at WalMart today, picking up our week's worth of groceries, and it was amazingly full of MEN.  Whereas on a usual Monday morning, you will meet the typical stay at home moms, elderly people, and occasional business person on a mission, men filled the store today.  They were everywhere.  Well, actually not everywhere.  There were none in Housewares, the Baby section, or even checking out the big screens in Electronics.  No, they were all congregating around the cards, huge tacky stuffed animals, flowers, and of course, the candy aisle.

Because nothing says, "I love you", like a card ... Oh, wait, a card does say, "I love you".  Literally.

Why can't men see that Hallmark is basically saying, "Look, you emotionally stunted MAN, you could never actually string enough words together to be able to tell your significant other how you feel (if, indeed, you DO have feelings inside that freakishly hairy chest of yours), so let the professionals do it for you.  You DO want to get some tonight, right?  We thought so."

Of course, any woman worth her salt won't be satisfied with just a Valentine's card.  It's a nice (and necessary) token, but had better be accompanied by a pink stuffed moose with a heart shaped nose and antlers the size of a shopping cart, and a huge box of chocolates.  The animal will be ooohed and ahhhhed over, sit in the bedroom for a few months, then be relegated to the Goodwill pile.  The chocolates, on the other hand, will sit uneaten for months because they go straight to dear wifey's thunder thighs.

There, my rant for the day.  Now on to Mother's Day.

Drunken Revelry

New Year's Eve, it seems, is a universally accepted reason to get smashing drunk in all cultures across the world. At least, the villagers celebrated it this way - or, I should say, the men did. And some kids, who snuck into their fathers' or uncles' private stashes of home-brew. Women abstained from alcohol, preferring to sit around and gossip about their men and neighbors as they smoked their hand rolled cigarettes.

Hanging out with the women.

On this particular New Year's Eve, the hut behind us was hosting a giant party. Jugs of coconut toddy, carefully collected and fermented for months, were hauled out of their hiding places for general consumption. The men of the clan assembled on mats in a large circle, and passed a ceramic mug around it, in a riotous game of hot-potato. Each man would swig the entire contents of the mug, refill it, and hand it to his neighbor. Who would repeat the process, and around and around they went. All the while, Bellamy Brothers' ''Redneck Girl" was blaring at full volume from the boom box, wavery and distorted from the tape's many repeated playings, and from the corrosive effects of the salty, tropical air.

"Gimme, gimme, gimme a redneck girl!" sang the speakers. I sat with my friend, Valena, at a safe distance from the drinkers, watching to see if anything exciting would break out. We were soon rewarded for our patience.

A young man named Nani stood up waveringly. He stumbled a few feet from the circle of revelers, then looked around confusedly. A few brave kids darted up to him, jeered, then ran quickly into the bushes.

"Hey!" he shouted, angering. "Where is that Kopeala? Where is he? I'm going to get him!"

Nani started to lurch down the path between the houses, searching drunkenly for Kopeala, who had apparently done something, some time in the past to piss him off. Nani obviously thought it was a big deal, now. We were delighted. Watching the drunks, for us village kids, was as mesmerizing as the newest video game is for kids who were blessed to grow up in more civilized countries. This would provide entertainment now, and fodder for conversation and gossip for weeks.

Staying a safe distance away, Valena and I followed along in the increasingly large crowd of kids as Nani stumbled through the village. "Nani! Go home!" a woman called at him from her doorway. "You're being stupid!" He roared in anger at her, and kept on his way. Spying an axe leaning against a nearby hut, Nani grabbed it and quickened his pace. We now formed a large circle around him, a thick wall of brown bodies moving with him but well away from the sharp blade he now carried.

Nani came to a stop in front of a hut, apparently Kopeala's. "Come out here, Kopeala! I'm going to kill you!" He swayed and we watched breathlessly. "Kopeala!!!" he roared. And swung the axe through the air for good measure. The momentum caused him to loose his balance, and he stumbled drunkenly to one side. The crowd gasped. Some boys started to laugh at him, which angered Nani even more and caused him to turn on his spectators. "Go away, you kids!" he yelled. "I'm gonna get you, too!" He started to run towards the closest perimeter (thankfully opposite from where Valena and I stood), and swung his axe at the scattering kids.

It was like watching a flock of pigeons take off as a dog runs towards them. Kids dispersed in every direction but up, disappearing between houses, around trees, out to the open beach nearby. Valena grabbed my hand and we took off, our bare feet pounding the the dirt as adrenaline shot its intoxicating serum into our veins.

We finally stopped when we reached Valena's house, laughing and talking the adventure over between gasping breaths. "Did you see him?!" I laughed.

"Yeah, what an idiot. Kopeala isn't even on the island right now," Valena giggled, leaning against the hut's exterior post.

Some braver kids (who had stayed around to watch the rest of the action) came by a little later, and gave us the report.

"Nani eventually dropped the axe, and then some men rushed in and restrained him," Lio said. "They took him into the men's hut, and he's asleep there now."

This is how I decided, at an early age, to not ever drink to the point of getting wasted. I didn't want to look like a complete fool.