Interlude

My brother Vic told a true story about my father, Vic Senior. He was there for Vic's wife Eileen's 40th birthday party. My father drank too much and as usual, he guzzled a massive amount of wine and then retired to bed early leaving everyone else to continue celebrating. About half an hour after my father disappeared, Eileen's ten-year-old niece Megan came to her. Megan had an urgent look in her eyes as she addressed Eileen. "We have an emergency." Eileen was alarmed. "What's going on?" Megan responded, "It's Vic Senior. He's asleep on top of the bed in the guest room in his boxer shorts. And that's not all. There's, uh, stuff hanging out."

There was. Vic Senior was snoring away in his boxers with the light on, the window shade up, and his boxers fully ventilated to reveal his 81-year-old family jewels. As the window looked out onto the street by the front door, everyone going in or out had a view. Six children aged five to thirteen were crowded around the window, whispering and pointing and giggling at Vic Senior's dangly bits. Eileen snapped off the light, pulled down the shade, and ended the free show. What memories they made for the children that night. Not the ones they planned, for sure.