The Comedian

My Dad is one of those people that says exactly what's on his mind, as soon as it pops into his head. He has no filter and thinks the more inappropriate and socially unacceptable he is, the better. He also "doesn't believe in": sunscreen, driving the speed limit or being early to anything. As children, he would always make my brother and I get in and out of the car like speedy, miniature Nascar drivers and would then speed to our destination because "Veterans can drive 5 miles over the speed limit". [To this day I still get in and out of the car faster than anyone I know.]

Once, when I was about 13 years old, I managed to trick my dad into arriving at the movies a little early. I lied to him about the start time of the "show" (as he calls it) so we wouldn't miss the first 5 minutes like we always did. Big mistake on my part. Minutes after we took our seats, my Dad was standing and began making his way to the front of the theater. He stood in the front and announced to all the other movie-goers that he was going to entertain us until the movie started. By the middle of his little stand up comedy act, I had sunk down so far in my chair I was practically sitting on the floor. Then, to my horror, my Dad pointed right at me and introduced me to the entire theater full of people. Everyone turned in their seats to stare at me, the comedian's daughter. My Dad and I didn't go out in public for a while after that.

With experiences like that under his belt, I should have known better than to invite my Dad to Zumba. I really don't know what I was thinking. Let's just say the class began with him dressing like a gangster, sagging pants and all, and ended with him discussing the quality of instructer's butt.

I don't even know how we could possibly be related.