Showing posts with label Boz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boz. Show all posts

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Mostromisms Part II


Besides just having names for things, my family also has phrases that were commonly used. Heath posted one of these on his return home to San Diego after his recent visit. I'll start with that one.
___________________________
Home Again, Home Again Jiggity Jig: Any time we went somewhere, when we returned my parents would say this. I'm not sure if this was a Mostrom thing or something that came from my mother, a Phifer. Without even thinking about it, when we return home from a trip I say this to my own children. It actually comes from a little nursery rhyme that I never heard until I was grown.
____________________________
Skin the Rabbit: When we were very young and Mother would help us undress, she would have us raise our hands in the air. As she pulled our shirt or dress over our head, she would say, "Skin the Rabbit!" Again...I'm not sure if this originally came from my Mom or Dad. Of course, by the time I had my own children it had been many years since my Mother had helped me undress. But the words out of my mouth were always--Skin the Rabbit! One day the kids and I got to talking about this phrase and I realized just how GROSS this saying actually is... especially since I've witnessed a rabbit being skinned. It's not a pleasant sight!
____________________________

Do you realize that my fist is bigger than your whole face? My Dad used to hold up his fist near our face and say this when we were being belligerent as children and young ladies. Never do I remember my father raising a hand to any of us, so this was always said in jest. If we had really done something that called for correction, we all agree that Dad just had to give us "the look" that said he was disappointed. Then we crumbled...
____________________________

Pitiful: My Mother's favorite singer is definitely Elvis. All of us girls spent hours and hours listening to the King sing from the "Music Room" (that eventually became my bedroom). Whether Mom was cleaning house, exercising, or enjoying a visit from a friend, Elvis kept her company. Dad, of course, was a little jealous. Elvis was not called "The King" by my Dad, he was called, "Pitiful." For example, one might've heard my father say, "Do you want to listen to Pitiful?" or "Is your Mother listening to Pitiful again?"
____________________________

Gary and the Girls: We had a full size van that was used for family outings and vacations. Wow...we had lots of great times in that van. In fact, from the top of the World Trade Center in New York City we looked down at it and joked that it was probably getting broken into--then when we got down, it HAD been broken into! The leather tire cover was custom-made for my parents and read, "Gary and the Girls." I remember Dad complaining as we were driving down the road that young men would be straining to look in. It took us a while to realize that their idea of Gary and the Girls was not a father, mother, and young daughters!
_____________________________

Boz: My Dad's friends have always referred to him as "Boz." My sisters and I have asked before where this nickname orginated and, of course, we've heard some pretty far-fetched stories from his friends and brothers. Maybe he's just had this nickname for so long that nobody even remembers anymore where it started. When we got older, we used to ask Dad why the van didn't say something like "Boz and the Babes!"
_____________________________

Slop the Hogs: My parents often work together in the kitchen and they also did so when we were young. Usually when a meal was ready, my Dad would round us up for dinner by hollering, "It's time to slop the hogs!" or "Let's slop the hogs!" Again, this was something we heard so often we never even thought about it being so RUDE until we were older.
_____________________________

Oh goodness...at some point I will need to work on some of our own Tylerisms. One just never knows what might come out of Todd's mouth!

Monday, February 16, 2009

Father-Daughter Bonding and the "Killer"


My dad is passionate about his automobiles. Not only does he have some classic cars but he also has had many pickups that have each had their own personalities...from the old standard Ford that 6 (yes, that is six!) of us used to pile into to go to school everyday to the silver and red Bozmobile of the late 1980's to his current King Ranch.

Each time my father (known to his friends simply as "Boz") would bring home a new pickup, he would come get me, with a gleam in his eye, to go for a ride. Now I realize that I wasn't the only daughter that was blessed with these "crop checks" with my father. Each of my sisters had similar excursions with the same and/or different vehicles as they were growing up and still living in my parents' home. It wasn't the size of the engine or the comfort of the seats that he wanted to share. It wasn't the length of the wheel-base or the color of the paint that had him excited. It was the "get-up-and-go", the popping of glasspacks (which were invariably added), and the sweet sounds of the stereo.

As we climbed in, the first thing my father did was put in a cassette, crank up the volume, and then look at me and wait for my reaction to the quality of the sound. God, I can just see that ornery smile on his face and the expectant look of pleasure when I exclaimed over it and started singing along. Then off we'd go to tour the fields, stopping now and again to time a quarter-mile run just out of curiosity!

The music that Boz selected wasn't just any old thing that he had around, though. It was something that had style, gave us common ground, and ROCKED! Typically, this meant that my field tours with my father had soundtracks created by Elvis (The King) and/or Jerry Lee Lewis (The Killer). We were raised on the stuff.

Over the years I have had several different vehicles, not always purchased for functuality or with frugality. When I got my last car, it had a hemi and an incredible sound system. It was a Boz car--definitely. I immediately fell in love with the "get-up-and-go", the sound of the hemi, and the brilliant, crisp sound of the stereo. That evening I loaded up Todd and the kids, grabbed the iPod, and headed for the interstate. It was time for my own children to experience the thrill of a new vehicle--"momma" style.

As I accelerated onto I-70, I looked at my family with a gleam in my eye and started the song. And we rocked out! The kids were INTO it. The grins on their faces and dancing in the seats were all I needed to know that they got it. When it was over, I let the silence just hang in the air for a few seconds before I told my children that they had just enjoyed listening to the "Killer" sing Boogie Woogie Country Man and their lives were better because of it. Then I told them the story of my trips in new vehicles with my own father...Grandpa.

Go ahead...listen to it. I added a link to a YouTube clip that plays the song--the same exact version that has always made my blood start pumping. A song that I will always associate with my father. If you're human, it should give you the chills.

Thanks, Dad, for taking the time to share your joy and love with us and to pass along your passion...for music, for speed (God help us!), for the land, and for family. I love you.