Making sense

 

“I had a good mind to clock your chimes.” My Father was referring to the time he almost ran over me with the truck. He was backing it with a trailer of yard debris on the back when I darted across the lawn on my bike and got clipped.

I began to wonder in earnest how one would go about clocking another persons chimes.

I know some clocks that have chimes, and I have heard the expression “to clean someone’s clock” or to hit them. But if I am not cleaning your clock, but rather, clocking your chimes, how would I go about it? Is it a shake by the shoulders? A kick to the groin? A head butt? It would help to know which part of the body is considered chimes to get somewhat of a starting point.

It has occurred to me in all my years living with the man, I don’t think I ever heard a euphemism come out correctly. Of course I didn’t realize these phrases were off until I would be politely corrected for saying something like:

“That’s like the pot calling the pan late.”

Now, I am not suggesting my father is in any way an idiot, in fact to this day he is one of the smarted people I know. My working theory is that as you have more children, your brain makes certain sacrifices to allow for more room for the things that matter, like knowing where your toddler is at the moment and making sure that it’s not the road.

I would venture to go further to guess that this “mixed- phrase-illogical condition” could be correlated to what I would call, “Offspring-identity disorder” in which a parent will try in vain to yell at, respond to, or talk with their child, only to consistently refer to them by a siblings name. In my own particular case study growing up as a participant in the “control group” of my family, I was (and am currently still quite often), mislabeled by a minimum of two or three first names by my mother. Depending on the level of exasperation, these labels are extended to include my Father’s name, down through the dog’s.

Even after the dog had died.

But after five children, it is an absolute miracle my parents didn’t loose a single one of us to a bear attack, aliens or run all the way over us with a truck.

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About D.Jeinkins

a married father of two boys, trying in desparation to preserve his sanity
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One Response to Making sense

  1. Aunt Margaret says:

    I love your blog.
    I was always concerned when I called Sean, Lucky, yes they both have facial hair (and Lucky was already dead), and the resemblance did end there. I mean with the facial hair. Sean is still alive. I did nearly kill him when he fell out of the car I was driving. But that is a story for another time. Now, I know and love your father, it it makes me kind of glad that he and your mom mix up the names and try to kill their growing children. I know that now I’m even more a part of the family.
    “The apple doesn’t fall far from the birds that flock together.

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