Dirty Underwear and Parents

The Second to Last Meeting

A high school classroom filled with anxious teenagers and anxious parents listening to a teacher go on and on about a trip to Germany over the upcoming Christmas holiday. It is not the most interesting meeting, but to me it seems important.

Then my Dad gets up and walks out. I thought it strange when he brought the book to the meeting, but then this behavior.

I get up to find him after having waited 5 minutes to make sure he had not just gone to the bathroom. The meetings were mandatory after all.

I find him on the floor leaning against the lockers reading his book.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“Reading my book. What does it look like I am doing?”

“Why?”

“The meeting was boring.”

He had a point. But the meetings were mandatory and it was mandatory that my Dad behave because the guy I took German for, my high school crush, is in the meeting with his dad.

“Let me know when the meeting is over.”

Thanks Dad. Will do. And no more meetings for you.


The Final Meeting

Thinking that things could not go any worse at this meeting, I am relaxed.

The teacher asks if there are any final travel tips anyone wants to share before the trip. Linda, aka Mom, raises her hand. Yes, this is my chance to redeem myself. My Mom was a flight attendant for 15 years, my Dad is a pilot. We are part of the travel industry. This will be good.

Let me say now, that my Mom would oftentimes tell people that I was adopted.

“Mom, tell them the truth, I am not adopted.”

With a hand in front of her mouth, “She is a little sensitive about it.”

And with her at 5’11” with red nails and platinum blond hair - we did not look alike.

So, Linda raises her hand. I think, “This is good. She will redeem me from the fiasco Dad created.”

“Linda, what is your tip?”

“Well, when our family goes on vacation,”

Let me interrupt her now and also say at this point, that since 3rd grade I packed my own bags.

“Mom, you did not pack my bags the right way.”

“Well then you can pack the bags yourself from now on.”

Now on being the rest of my life. The woman was nothing, if not consequential.

Back to the travel tip:

“we take all of our old, ratty, stained underwear, and wear them one last time. Then we throw them away at the hotel so we have more room to bring back souvenirs.”

Yep, this is what she says to all of my friends and their parents. I try to crawl under my desk and think to myself “maybe I am adopted. How could she do this to me?” Oh, the laughs.

Years later, when I told this story as my most embarrassing story, she felt horrible. She still thought it a good tip. I pointed out that you cannot really save that much room with underwear, our asses were just not that large.