SHANNON KELLY
Perspectives Editor
My Super Bowl Sunday fit the college-kid mold in terms of gross amounts of grub and good times with good people. The grub, however, was Grandma’s homemade angel food cake. The life of the party? Not the rowdy, Rainbow wearing frat boy, but goofy Grandad, obviously.
Pre-game activities were pretty standard. Grandma tirelessly spread lemon frosting on the cake, and I chatted with Grandad for a while.
He asked to see my most recent columns, which proved the beginning of another family-fun-filled political moment. Awww.
While Grandad read the first two, the proud expression on his face kept things looking good for me. He read the third headline, “Bush urges bi-partisan spirit,” then put the paper down and stood up from his La -Z- Boy. You know things are getting crazy when Grandad gets up from his chair.
“I’ll be right back to finish. I just have to get something for my arthritis that’s acting up,” he said.
He returned, clenching a stress ball in his hand. It was shaped like George Bush’s head. Oh really Grandad? How is that arthritis remedy working for you?
It’s always encouraging when Grandad tells me I’ve done a good job, especially when he tags on “but I never thought my granddaughter would be a Bush-lover.” He said it lovingly and jokingly, but still.
I realized the lightheartedness in his joking, but I’m not going to lie. I was a little disgruntled.
Bush-lover? First of all, why has that term become the new (insert inappropriate- for-Pepperdine defaming profanity here)? Actually, don’t answer that.
What did I do to get pegged a … dun dun dun … Bush-lover? Oh yes, I placed his name in a headline and then proceeded to address his State of the Union speech, in which I might have said a couple nice things about America’s president. Young journalists can be so naive.
Grandad played fair and refrained from any further name calling. His final statement came when he held up the spongy Bush face and gave the president of the United States the meanest 89-year- old Grandad squeeze I’ve ever seen. Ha, take that Bush. Good laughs after that show of superb sportsmanship and exemplary Grandad behavior.
As Mic Jagger danced around like a 16-year-old girl during the half-time show, I sat next to my Grandad while my Grandma showed me some World War II memorabilia. She read me the military report that recounted the day my granddad’s plane was shot down while he fought, bravely for his country. I read the certificate that gave details about his Distinguished Flying Cross, which he received for shooting down a German plane as a tail gunner.
Across the room my dad read the latest CATO newsletter and concocted some sort of internal conservative dialogue that he’d use for the next tell-off-the-liberals (father-in-laws included) spiel. Next to him, my uncle, a retired U.S. Air Force captain, interrupted Dad’s reading with an irreverent political jab.
As the Rolling Stones proved 60 year-olds rock harder than anyone, my family laughed, joked and kept poking at each other for opposing viewpoints on everything from the war, to how strong (or weak, depending on one’s political party) my mom’s margarita was.
The next and best beer commercial cut off the greatest and most enduring rock band alive, as well as the non-disputed loudest and most talkative family in existence.
I was amazed by so many varying opinions, interests and personalities in that one room and appreciated how our disagreements and our abilities to poke fun at our differences are what made our time together so enjoyable. The diversity in my Grandparents house was a perfect microcosm of what makes this country so beautiful.
After the game, Gramps paid Uncle Gary $40. “You lose a bet there Granddad?” Karma, good stuff.
02-09-2006
