George Washington is a D-ck

Normally, I wouldn't mention that the father of our country is a tool, but since I am sitting in the office of the guy who manages Mount Vernon, I feel I am owed.  The swelling is going down around my eye, but I fear the wound in my pride might be permanent.  Who knew that a guy who is supposed to have wooden teeth would have such a mean left hook?

            It all started out, as many of these stories do, in a suburb of Dallas.  My wife got a call from her mother asking her to accompany her to her fiftieth high school reunion. Since she had lost her husband the summer before last, Susan said yes.  Feeling, I suppose, that if she didn't go with her mother, May Lynn wouldn't go at all. 

           From there a weekend flight to Virginia turned into one of those two-week cross country vacation families are presumed to have to participate in lest our children grow into adulthood feeling they missed out on a rite of American passage.  Really, what other culture but American is it expected for the nuclear family to hitch up a gas guzzling SUV and travel thousands of miles across this great nation of ours in 100 degree heat?

            Of course, travel has changed a lot since I was the youngest forced to share the back seat with my brother and sister.  It is now frowned upon for fathers to yell at their kids, "I'll give you something to cry about if you don't stop that sniveling!"  I'm sure there are many of my generation who went out to Disney World only to have dear old Dad decide our behavior was so bad that there was no way in hell he was going to spend a day with us at the happiest place on earth.  Thus, he turned the car around.  If Mom hadn't threatened divorce, I may never have had that picture of Mickey and me standing in front of Sleeping Beauty's castle (Mickey with his frozen smile and I white with fear that my family was one snow cone spill away from dissolving to the four winds).

            Overall, I blame Susan because she was the one who brought it up.  She thought it was important for the kids to see Washington D.C. and the surrounding areas.  "Think of the history we will be exposing them to," she recited as if it was some magic mantra.  As if it was something that would snap me into actually wanting to spend time driving on an Interstate looking for a place to pee for whomever had to urinate, which they could have done at the last stop but they refused to even try because they just knew that they didn't need to go at the time.  Yet, then they start begging and pleading for Dad to stop some place so they can empty their bladder...and no, they can't wait until we drive an extra twenty miles to the next town. 

            It's not that I think my family is any worse than other families; it's just that I know human behavior, which doesn't jell well with extended traveling in summer heat.  But, what was I to do when Susan made all the arrangements including the itinerary of all the sights we would be seeing along the way.  For the most part we accomplished every goal until we rolled into _______, where my mother-in-law resides.

Her reunion was two towns over and on the invitation it said, 'BYOB.'  When I saw this, and mind you I had just driven nine hours, I laughed and wondered, unfortunately out loud, if for the fiftieth they also wanted people to bring their own oxygen.  Really, it was just a snippy comment, not meant to offend anyone, especially May Lynn, but offend her it did and for the next two hours I spent apologizing to her for implying that everyone her age was on the brink of a hospice placement. 

           May Lynn has some issues growing older, not that you would know it by her face which has been petrified by two face lifts and botox.  To further add to my guilt, Susan hissed at me, while May Lynn wept in the bathroom, that her mother's husband had been hooked up to oxygen for the last year of his life and it really cut back on their social life.  May Lynn is still the type of woman who likes a fancy dinner and ballroom dancing. 

          It was then decided that while Susan and her mother went to the reunion I should take the kids to some historic sites...and I wasn't really in a place to disagree.  Since Susan wanted to see most of the things in Washington D. C., it was decided that I would drive the children up to Mount Vernon.  Of course, the only person who really was interested in the rest of us seeing Mount Vernon was going to attend a senior's picnic that day, I thought that maybe the kids and I could just hang out and chill before we took on the Smithsonian...wrong.  Susan was determined that the children would not be the same unless they saw the plantation where the father of our country kept his slaves.  There was history to be learned and there was no way we would be learning it while we puttered around May Lynn's home in air conditioned comfort. 

          Thus, on the hottest day in July the kids and I climbed into the SUV and drove an hour to experience Mount Vernon.  The ride was comfortable for the first twenty minutes, but then the car didn't feel as comfortable, thirty minutes later I figured that the Freon wasn't working.  By then Claire was whining that it was too hot and she started talking about her period which I think was done just to see if she could make me more frustrated - mission accomplished.

          Listen, I really hate it when she gets like that.  You see, I'm not her biological father although I have raised her since she was two.  It has only been lately that she has been questioning my authority based on my lack of biological paternity.  I admit that it upsets me some, but Susan has wisely counseled that I should just let things be and accept that she is going through a phase.  An annoying, ungrateful, spiteful phase.  So like that duck everyone refers too, I just let her jabs roll off my feathers.  That is until Johnny, my son both biologically and every other way, starts in on the act.  He doesn't understand what periods are and starts gabbing that he too is suffering from the malady. 

          Of course Claire responds in that charming way of fifteen year old teens, "Oh shut up!  You aren't having your period.  Only girls can have periods you moron."

          "I am too having my period!"  My little Johnny pipes up.  I congratulate myself on having a son with spirit as I damn myself for having a son not too quick on the uptake. 

          Claire rolls her eyes and I know that I am going to live to regret every leaving Dallas, "If you are having your period how do you put the tampon up your..."

        "That's quite enough Claire!" I interject thinking that my ears will start to bleed at any moment.  She gives herself a self-satisfied smile before Johnny pipes up again, "What is a tampon?"  I feel the life force draining from my body.

            I see Claire about to dig into her purse.  "Don't," I say with as much vigor as I can.  Johnny is scared of blood, one time he fainted after skinning his knee, so this talk about a woman's monthly cycle is just going to have to wait until he's forty something.  She shrugs knowing that she now has the upper hand.  "I'm thirsty, can we stop through a drive thru and get something to drink?"  I say nothing but turn into the next Burger King I see.

          I thought things would get much better once we got to Mount Vernon, but no such luck.  Apparently being dressed in colonial clothing and cooking over a Dutch oven in the middle of July does not put people in a happy mood.  The young woman demonstrating the churning of the butter has a flatter affect than Claire does when responding to her mother and me taking her out to eat to celebrate her grade card.  "Whatever, as long as it's not Red Lobster."  I'm five minutes away from saying, "Hey, let's get back into the steaming hot car and go home early.  We'll just tell your Mom that there wasn't much to see and I needed to get the car air conditioner fixed." When Johnny spots George Washington walking toward the back of the house.  I guessed the guy was supposed to be George Washington, but I don't remember portraits of the father of our country going through his acne stage.  The guy is walking in that slumped manner that I witness every day with Claire.  Yet, he is dressed in a fashion that says general, late 1700's.

          "Daddy, look, it's George Washington, the Father of our Country!" my sweet seven year old son says.  I couldn't help but smile as he took out the camera I bought for him for Christmas last year.  Maybe Susan was right, maybe despite all the inconveniences and mishaps, perhaps going on a family vacation cross-country is worth it.  Seeing my son run up to George Washington in order to take a picture with him gives me pride, not only in just my son, but also this fine nation with its traditions and...wait  a   dag    gone      minute.  Did I just hear George Washington tell my kid to bug off?  Where in the hell does George Fricking Washington get off telling my kid to bug off?

          I take a deep breath; just as I'm sure Susan would want me to do before I approach Mr. Washington.  "Excuse me...Mr. Washington," George looks at me as if I'm lint on his colonial jacket.  "My son here would like to take your picture." 

          "I'm on break," mumbles the Father of our Country.

          "Yes, but it is just one picture." 

          "Dude," George Washington just called me a dude, "I told you I'm on break!"

           Just then we are interrupted by Martha Washington, who may I add, is a lovely woman inside and out.  "Now George, I think this young patriot deserves a pho-to-graph," she says this as if it is some concept that is new to her which makes Johnny giggle, "of his first president."

          "Shut up Nancy, I'm on break!" this pimple infested George Washington says as he peels off his wig.

          It takes me a moment to register that George Washington just called Martha Washington "Nancy," and told her to shut up.  Martha looks slightly offended and embarrassed which I don't blame her.  In fact, it makes me angry that the first First Lady of our nation is taking guff off this imitation teenage Washington.  Quite frankly she deserves better.  I'm thinking all of this until I hear Claire laughing, that's when George Washington winks at my daughter.  That's right, in front of Martha Washington, George Washington is flirting with my fifteen year old daughter. 

         Martha, tries to take charge of the situation, I can see why the real George loved her, "George," she says firmly, "We are not supposed to take our wigs off in front of our guests."

          George, being the obvious dick that he is replies, "Well Martha, I guess you are just going to have to run and tell your boyfriend John Adams on me."  Martha turns beet red and for a moment I wonder if she and Adams were an item.  Claire is laughing as if George Washington is the funniest person on Earth and Johnny looks as if he is on the verge of tears. 

          "Claire, stop it.  Go back to the car!"  I'm angrier at her then I have been in a long time.  She is siding with George Washington, a president she barely knows, against her own sweet brother. 

          "Quit bossing me around," she pauses as if she is measuring something before she sprouts, "You're not my real father."

          I feel as if I was punched in the stomach by Mike Tyson.

          "Yeah, you're not her real father," says the president.

           It's almost as if the concept of time is suspended and I speak before I know I have spoken.  "Well Claire, I guess technically that is true.  I'm not your real father.  Your real father hasn't seen you since he left you and left your mother forty thousand dollars in debt.  I guess I'm just the guy who dried your tears, coached your little league, and has loved you unconditionally.  We could call your real father and ask him what he thinks about this situation, but no one knows where he is at the moment, last we heard, which was five years ago, he was working under an alias while serving drinks in Jamaica.

          Claire gasps.  It is as if all of her snooty teen veneer falls from her face.  Yes, the truth hurts and I feel bad, but part of me is glad that it is out in the open; that is until George Washington buts in.  "God Claire, I would run away if I was you.  Maybe we could hook up later." 

          "George!" Martha admonishes.

          That's it, I'm done.  I am officially at my wits end.  I slug George Washington.

           Martha runs for help.  Johnny runs to Claire and she puts her arms around him, just like a good sister should do.  In fact, it is as I'm admiring the scene with my children that George Washington hits me so hard I hit the ground.  I see stars, perhaps fifty of them, then I see nothing.

          When I come to I'm on what looks like a sofa in what I assume is the office.  Martha Washington smiles at me, she really is a lovely charming woman.  I hear Claire before I see her, "Daddy, are you okay?"  Johnny then jumps in front of her, "Daddy, you got George Washington fired!" 

          Martha shakes her head, "We have been having problems with him for several weeks, it was just a matter of time before he was canned.  The man who normally plays my husband had a family emergency so we promoted one of the stable hands.  I guess you can see that was a mistake."  She then answers my questions before I even ask them, "You have a slight concussion.  The doctor looked at you and thinks you will be okay but doesn't want you to drive for the next day or so.  You'll probably have a black eye.  Your daughter was able to get a hold of your wife and she is coming as soon as she can."  She smiled again, "One of the managers took your car, with your daughter's permission of course, and had your air conditioner filled with Freon so at least you don't have to worry about that.  My sincerest apology for my...husband's," she winks, "behavior."

          Martha then gets up, "By the way, if you feel up to it, I would like to give you and your children a personal tour of the history of Mount Vernon, it's the least we could do."

          "Thank you," I say before she walks out the door. 

          Claire makes sure she is out of hearing range before she says, "I think they are afraid that you will sue them."

          "I'm not going to sue them.  I'm sure they could have had me arrested." 

         "Daddy," she says again, "I'm sorry."

          "Claire, honey, I'm sorry too.  I feel angry at myself that I said those things to you."  She gulps.  "I think your biological father is a," I search for a polite word, but nothing comes to me, "I think your biological father is a dick," she laughs, "I think he is a dick for missing out on the life of the most amazing daughter ever."  She hugs me and I know all will start to be better between us.

          Suddenly Susan comes rushing in.  "They told me you would be here.  What happened?  Is it true you hit George Washington?  Lucky for you, Mother ran into some friends she could hang out with or I wouldn't know what to do!"

          "Mommy," says Johnny. 

          "What is it sweetie, I'm busy lecturing your father."

          "George Washington is a dick!"

          Susan has a horrified look on her face and all Claire and I can do is laugh before I say, "Ah, the truth from the mouth of babes." 

Westerfield © 2009