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My dad wasn’t like the other dads. His idea of fun was drinking beer and jokingly shaking down my friends (then six and seven) for money. Besides teaching me how to DJ he taught me how to bullshit. This was one of his best qualities. One of my fondest memories was him keeping a fire hydrant in his trunk that he would occasionally leave on the side walk when he wanted to save a parking spot. He said he saw it in a movie once.
A lot of people say they don’t give a shit but my dad actually didn’t. In my 8th grade year book he wrote, “You give so much in life so why give a fuck. That’s yours to keep.” Words to live by I guess.
Like most teenagers I got in my fair share of trouble which landed me in jail. Believe it or not at the tender age of 15 that wasn’t the first time being there. Nor my second or third.
My father used to take me to bars at night with him. “Real life experience” is what he used to call it. While he slammed beers at the bar I pumped quarters into the table top Pac-man and drank ginger ale out of shot glasses. My dad was a bit of a hot head and on one of these nights he decided to pick a fight. I’ll never forget that night because it was the first time I’d ever seen my dad hit someone. To this day I can honestly say I’ve never seen someone get hit like that. My dad hit the guy so hard the keys rattled in the guys jacket pocket. That’s pretty fucking hard!
So hard it landed us both in jail. My dad handcuffed at one end of a metal bench and me in my pajamas at the other coloring on the back of release forms waiting for my mom to come pick me up.
The next day my dad bought me a Slip N Slide
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