Thursday, August 13, 2009

A Tale of Two Sons


Tale of Two Sons (with all respect to the sons not featured in this post)

Son One:
This is Clay. 
He is old. Too old to be cuddled up by his dad anymore, for one. Too old to even be seen in public with his dad, two. But, as 17 as he is, he is still a sweetie pie. I took him to a Sounders game a few weeks ago and we had fun making fun of the many amusing aspects of US pro soccer. Now, don't get me wrong. I am a lifelong soccer fan. In any form. Hell, I'd watch dog soccer on ESPN 8, "The Ocho." And, had I some expendable income and a house in the city, I would be at all the games possibly even painted up. No doubt. 
But I figured I would share some of the hilarious tidbits Clay pointed out. 

1. Why, when after speaking to your bro in a perfectly "american" accent, do you suddenly chant in a brittish accent? And why, when we have all heard your apple pie vocabulary do you pull out the "Rubbish!" when shouting at the ref? WTF? Really? Really? You cheer in BRITTISH?Do you take out the rubbish and the recycling? 
  "Yeah, brah, totally. That babe was smokin. Right on, we should get some beers after th....  Oi! Oi, Ref! Oi, mate! You're off your Cobbler's Awls, you Wanker.  Take that whistle and stick it up yer Khyber! Just RUBBISH! RUBBISH!...... sorry, brah, anyway. Yeah, we should get some beers after the game and pick up some tail."

2. Just because a thousand people sing a song does not make it a good song. Think Brittany Spears, for example. Not bagging on these über fans or anything, but..... well, yeah I am. Your songs suck. "Sounders till Oi Doi?" (brittish accent, catch it? eh? eh?) Really, till you die? Or do you mean until the team is sold to Oklahoma City?
Those songs sound awesome in other countries. They are cool and catchy and nobody understands a damned word, but when the guy right behind you is singing them to death with his horse-ass voice cracking and spiking, it is just ugly and wrong. No offense Drew Carey. Don't sit on me or anything. I think you are rad. Just maybe pass out harmonicas or kazoos or something.  

3. Taking pictures of your 17 yr old son in a crowd of a bajillion people will certainly end in photos like this:
Ooooh. Is that not good?

Pretty friggin nice stadium though. 
oh, sweet love dearest, what's wrong? honey punkin pie? are you ok? you need anything, tiger bear cuddle bug? sweet bear? 
Yeah, that didn't work too well. So instead here is a lovely butt shot of the dude in front of us.  
Yeah, Clay is one hell of a guy. His humor is more precise and cunning than anybody I have ever met.  Even if he is embarrassed to hug his dad on camera in front of screaming britt-merican fans. God love him!



Son Two:

This is T. This is T one photo before he broke my camera. (Do you like the face paint?) (if so, see bottom of post...)
Not broke like I can fix it for a few bucks, broke. Broke like trash can bound, broke. 
He has done lots of photography over the years, to be sure. But tonight he was getting all these cool shots and trying them several times until he got his favorite. I could see his compositions starting to  get some thought. Pretty fun to watch. Pretty fun until I heard him start to go animal wild, jumping around to get these amazing action shots. Pretty fun until I heard the thump and the following silence. 
Well, instead of focusing on the negative. here are some of the last shots the faithful camera took before it was decapitated by a five year old. 

I think he was trying to document some of the art in the house. 

An amazing and enormous painting covering our entire play room wall. This is one that no doubt spurned much consternation in my family. My dad painted this for me when I was five years old and always told me I could have it when I got my own house. Well, more than three decades as the Watson family centerpiece and guess who has to be a little bitch about it and come collect the art? Yup. Well, I love it in my house. It is spectacular! And I could NEVER afford a piece like this. Just have to say that since the vortex it left on my parents' wall has been truly terrifying. Anyway... I digress. Almost constantly. Like this one time.....
Mom.

This parting shot of T is a telling one. This kid is really clever. You know those puzzles where there is only one correct way to arrange the squares so all the tails and heads of the dinosaurs (or trucks or trains or whatever) line up? Those puzzles that usually take me an hour of trying fruitlessly and a few seconds of chopping up into small pieces? T got one for a birthday present, opened it and in less than the time it takes to boil water for tea had it finished. I am talking under three minutes and he called, "I'm doooooone. What's next?" I was impressed. 

And then I chopped up his puzzle. 

(ok put the phone down. I didn't chop up his puzzle. Jeez.)




OK, can't really go off on two sons without including more. Son 3 below in the midst of a surprisingly regular occurrence with Son 2. Seems face paint isn't just for face paint anymore. (permanent markers work so well. The color is just astounding. d'oh) 
Yeah, this smile is gonna get him far.

Mercy! 

My math is bad. Artist. This is the real Son 2 with the actual Son 4. 
J Man is the second while F man, being the youngest is the anchor in this relay. 
J is so awesome with his younger bros. Good man, J.