Breaking the Law

I don’t write much about my dad.  It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s just he’s been gone since 2000.   A lot of people will convert Gpa to my dad when I talk or write about him.  I think it’s because we skip a generation.  And that’s not typical.

Recently, I was sharing with someone that when I read Mad Magazine at my mom’s friends house, I was breaking the law.

Dad had forbidden my sister and I to read it.  You  know if he hadn’t of done that, I’m not sure if I would have read it.  But there wasn’t much to do while mom hung out, so maybe. Though maybe not as titillating as an experience.

The worst thing about being subversive is that there was no dialog. I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t want us to read it.  If I asked, he’d figure out I had read it. And I didn’t want to find out what the consequences would be if he did find out.

The other thing I didn’t understand is that he had a similar sense of humor.  He’d sing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” when everyone else in the office sang “Happy Birthday” and never got caught.

The best thing about sharing the memory; my friend like that by reading Mad Magazine, I broke the law.

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