Friday, April 27, 2012


     My dad had a thing for famous people.  He was excited that they were filming one of the Ghostbusters movies at the St. Luke’s Roosevelt hospital in New York where this woman he was dating worked.  She invited him to one of the filming days.  Everything was going splendidly, until Bill Murray tried to lift up my dad’s girlfriend’s sweater.  Yes, Bill Murray really did try to do that and my dad was none too pleased.  However, I don’t get to say my dad punched Bill Murray or started an altercation.  Dang it!

     Then came my sister’s move to college; Stanford to be exact.  She was in the same class as Chelsea Clinton.  Now, my dad didn’t move me out to Ann Arbor.  He saw me off at the Albuquerque airport with my then step monster (the lady whose bra Bill Murray tried to see), my sister and my first grade friend—well until he started to get teary eyed and left to go back to work.  But he moved my sister to Palo Alto.  And he wasn’t doing it to be helpful to my sister.  He made that “college move” trip to see President Clinton, who was president at the time.  Dad found the President in Chelsea’s room ratcheting up her bed so that she could store clothes and other junk underneath it.  He didn’t do anything like that for my sister, but instead came running into her room while she was doing manual labor to tell her he’d just seen Bill.  Good going Dad.
     And when my dad found out I met Jerry Seinfeld in Spain, well in two words, he went ape shit.  Literally.  He was floored.  This was back when cameras took film and you had to develop it to see the pictures.  I developed the film from my camera housing my photos with Jerry, had double prints made and priority mailed them to my dad.  I missed my sister’s high school graduation since I was still in Seville, but Dad took those photos with me and Jerry to the graduation ceremony and passed them around like candy.  He wanted everyone to know I’d met a T.V. star.  I’m sure my sister was reeling over this.  I would have been.  It was her graduation for goodness sake.
     And don’t forget when my dad attended law school in Denver (he went to law school after he retired from his career as an engineer at age 58) during Kobe Bryant’s sexual harassment trial.  While shopping at the Cherry Creek Mall he saw Kobe Bryant’s defense lawyer Pamela Mackey.  My dad went up to the petite woman and told her what a good job she was doing defending Kobe against the rape accusations.  Hey, what can I say, he was a huge basketball fan. 

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