My Father's Mugs

This mug was my father's. I discovered it on his desk when I was very small. According to family tales I don't remember, it was once found in my bed when I was three or four. The office supplies it had held, scattered on the floor.

That mug sat loud and proud securing his collection of pens, pencils and the occasional letter opener. It has performed the same service for me since the General passed in 1980.

I can remember showing off the mug to my grade school buds. It was a hit for sure. We didn't need to open a "National Geographic" to see nekkid wimmin. No; here was a realistic 3-D example of one with , snicker, snicker, no clothes on. These titillating tours of early sexual awareness only lasted a short time before boredom set in.

This mug is an example of how depraved the levels of the rampant and un-tethered pornography reached as they permeated the White, tight ass-ed culture of my youth. It was scandalous I tell you.

My mom would not allow this mug in the kitchen, the dining room; anywhere strangers might come together to meet.  The mug did not assault her sense of morals. No, she considered it crass and in poor taste. One did not leave items like this out for company to see. It would be akin to leaving panties on the love seat in the living room. In actuality, this mug was never destined to actually hold any coffee. The handle is almost useless. A secure grip, near impossible. I am sure it did not take long for it to turn into a pen and pencil holder.

This half liter beer mug on the right sat on my father's work desks wherever he was stationed after his time in post WW ll  Germany. It also never made it past souvenir status. It was one of his most prized memories of his Air Force years. His staff gave it to him. Apparently it was a case of mutual love and respect. He exchanged howdy's with some of them right up to his passing.

It is interesting to me the things we collect and save that over time don't just take up space and add to the clutter. They serve as rewind cues to special times and the people we shared them with. They can remind us of pleasant times, hard times, insane times. 

I have my own collection of material memories. Whenever I take the time to check them out, the memories will flow through fingers as I fondle them, flow through my eyes or become a river of sound through my ears. The best memories will make me smile and often sad at the same time. 

Considering these two mugs as belonging in this category; they are bittersweet, tearful, and bust a gut funny; my relationship with my dad was all that.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ...............................

______________________

An obvious pick this post is "Father & Son" from the album, "Tea for the Tillerman" by Cat Stevens before he was sucked into some serious religious insanity. One of the best Father/offspring tunes ever written in my opinion. Definitely one of my favorites.

I was a fan of Cat Stevens until he seemed to come out in support of the Fatwa taken out on Salman Rushdie over 30 years ago. That I never heard a denial on his behalf at the time, I took his response, the one I listened to, as being exactly how he felt. 

Years can conveniently dim memories of the things done back in the day. My anger at him waned over time and he eventually stepped back into the light; saying his reasons were misinterpreted by the anti-moslem press of that time.

Okay fine. I am over it. He's over it. Time to move on.