V-M DAY- IT’S ALL OVER
I believe this is truly the war to end all wars. Uncle Sam will soon be adding Victory over Mouse (V-M) Day to his list of Hallmark holidays. In 2016, memorial celebrations are expected to include over-priced string cheese and fondue dinners.
In addition to putting another tally in the victory column for the red, white and blue, I have come to learn three very important things over my past few months of #ManhattanProjectRedux.
- There’s a special place in Hell reserved for city dog walkers, who are more accurately city dog followers- the most dangerous thing on the Upper East Side is an old woman coming at you with an uncontrollable six foot rope that has four legs attached to the other end.
- Always wear headphones and never smile when in a hurry, otherwise everyone will feel the need to stop and talk to you for the most bizarre reasons:
“Excuse me, Miss, I’m stopping everyone wearing pink coats today.”
Really? That’s a small demographic so I guarantee the results of whatever you’re measuring won’t be an accurate reflection of anything. And my coat is salmon so I’d fall in your margin of error.
- It’s good to get some time out of the city every once in a while.
This past weekend I had the chance to get away from the Manhattan mayhem and celebrate Easter with my family upstate. For all of you city dwellers with your perceptions of upstate, think upper and about a 4:1 cow to person ratio and we’ll be on the same page here.
By now I’m sure you can image holidays with my family are never dull. It’s safe to say that if it’s a relaxed and uneventful day then there probably isn’t a DeMellier present.
Like my first Christmas, my parents learned I was allergic to pine trees when I stopped breathing and my mom threw the entire tree, ornaments, lights and all, out the front door.
I spent a few days in the hospital and I don’t think my sister and brother will ever fully recover from coming home as a kindergartener and first grader to find their Christmas tree on the lawn.
Twenty-two years later and they still say I ruined Christmas and my dad still asks my mom why she didn’t move the baby outside instead of the tree. My favorite question is when I get asked if I’m the “Christmas-tree-on-the-lawn DeMellier,” because that’s usually followed by why do my parents live on an old Christmas tree farm now? Don’t worry I wasn’t a disease faking infant, I almost died around those trees, too.
But “almost” only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, so Molly 2 Trees 0.
Then there was the time my mom tried to throw my dad a surprise party for his 40th birthday. If it weren’t so genuine it would be the worst idea she’s ever had.
In line with most of my childhood I was the youngest on the guest list at the age of four, putting my brother around 10 and my sister 11 years old.
The drinks were cracked, the house was full, my dad was surprised- and everyone should have been concerned that a DeMellier event was threatening to go off so well.
Cue sibling fight.
This was my phase where if my brother had it I wanted it- hence the bowl cut.
Apparently his Lego’s fell into that category that night. Never being one for subtleties I stole a handful right when he was looking and ran away. I took cover behind what could be in competition for the world’s largest and heaviest rocking chair. When I saw the husky guy chasing after me and I panicked and pulled the rocking chair on top of my face.
In retrospect there were a lot of other moves I could have made.
The chair broke my nose open and unleashed the bloodgates all over the party. My parents spent the rest of the night in ER while doctors stitched my nose back together and my grandparents kept the party going with their guests.
It’s no wonder my sister is the favorite child.
Over the years we’ve improved our social graces to a degree and mostly avoid surprises. However, in true DeMellier fashion it was no shock when this Easter turned out to be more than just a ham dinner and ruthless egg hunt.
I talk to my parents on the phone almost daily and a few weeks ago I was wrapping up telling my dad all about my day when he replied in a very serious tone, “Now, Molly, there’s something I need to tell you.”
I immediately made a mental list of all the people who were potentially dead.
“I’m getting Baptized Easter Sunday.”
Well that took a turn for the better.
He failed to mention that he was getting a trifecta more mind blowing than the Holy Trinity and received the sacraments of Baptism, First Communion, and Confirmation in one shot.
No, I couldn’t be his godmother. No, I couldn’t call the event the Marksism. Still no even when I clarified the “ks” spelling to differentiate between him and Karl.
Strangely, the one question that was ignored was when he would be receiving Reconciliation, or First Confession.
Joking aside, I’m truly proud of my dad for committing to his faith and joining the Church. It’s where I learned my sense of community, and though he wasn’t officially a member until recently, it’s a community I have always considered him to be a part of.
Every little girl idolizes her dad. He is her entire world, her everything when nothing else makes sense. As I’ve gotten older the jokes have gotten more brutal, but this vision hasn’t faded. I’m everything that I am today because I’ve been blessed with such an amazing role model and friend in him.
As I returned to the city Monday morning I replayed the weekend in my mind, knowing that this was just another community that is soon to gain far more from my dad than he will ever take from it.
Spring is almost here and things are heating up in the city. Stay tuned, the best guac is yet to be shared.