Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Ummm . . . Okay, Dad

Who knew listening to their music could be so . . . educational.

Hey, hey, we're the Monkees
And people say we monkey around,
But we're too busy singing
To put anybody down.

It was 1966.
My cousin, Jody, and I had just discovered the wonderful, magical, empowering world of rock and roll.
And LP records.
The perfect pairing.
Now we could listen to the exciting new music whenever and however we wanted.
Which was all of the time.
And loudly.
Hey, hey, we're the Monkees . . .
Was driving itself like a hammer throughout the house.
For probably the 15th time that day.
I should probably mention that the only record-player I had access to, was my parents'.
In the front room.
Diane!”
Over the music, I vaguely made out the sound of my Mother's voice.
I looked up.
She was standing beside us.
Would you PLEASE turn that down?”
I turned the knob.
A bit.
What?”
Mom sighed.
Audibly.
I just wanted you to turn it down.”
I looked at the record player. “I did.”
She sighed again. “Diane. You have been playing that record over and over all day. Can't you think of something else to do? Or something else to play?”
No.”
Well, I'm not going to keep coming out here to tell you to turn it down!”
Okay.”
Now what she had said, and what I had just heard, were two different things.
She had been voicing a threat.
I had understood that she wasn't going to bother us any more.
She left.
Happily, I turned up Jody's and my music once more.
I never heard my Dad's approach.
Let's face it, I wouldn't have heard the approach of an entire herd of water buffalo.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over the two of us, sitting there on the floor in front of the record player.
A large shadow.
I looked up.
Just in time to see my Dad reach out, lift the needle from the record.
Remove said record.
And snap it in two.
Oh, my.
He handed the pieces back to me.
You mother told you,” he said.
I stared at the broken record, aghast.
But . . . but it was Jody's,” I managed, finally.
Dad shrugged. “I guess you should have listened to your mother,” he said.
Then he left.
Jody and I stared at each other.
Then we quickly gathered up our remaining records and carried them to safety.
I think I bought her a new one.
I don't remember.
I'll never forget the lesson.
And neither will Jody.
Following that . . . incident, whenever someone in her family looked like they might lose their temper, they would immediately be told, “Don't pull a Mark Stringam!”
Ah, lessons taught by my Dad.
And his friends, the Monkees.

12 comments:

  1. That was a bit...ummmm...FINAL wasn't it?

    ReplyDelete
  2. thank you for commenting on my blog, Diane! Thank you also for the follow :)

    Christina
    estelachristina.blogspot.com

    ReplyDelete
  3. Ya parents had control in dem days today if you do that the kid goes and breaks something of yours. I think our way was better raising kids because it also taught respect to your elders. Today the music and language sees parents in a different light not to be respected .

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. We DEFINITELY had respect. And it continues through to today!

      Delete
  4. Oh--well do I remember that. Dad didn't set a lot of records but he sure showed that he was a record breaker...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That's one record that never should have been broken . . . eep!

      Delete
  5. Your Dad certainly meant business, I would have listened to him too :)

    ReplyDelete
  6. Oh, my. I wouldn't have to learn that lesson more than once...
    I just love coming here, Diane, to read your stories about your colorful and interesting past!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. To tell you the truth, I think he was a bit shocked at himself! He never did it again. Mind you, he didn't have to . . . :)

      Delete

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