My dad? Getting on TV during a labourers’ strike in Ontario ties neatly with lifting up to 200 pounds and beyond.
My mum? Standing up for herself and being strong in what she believes in.
My mom filled our house with her art (every wall of the living room was filled from the ceiling to 2 1/2 – 3 feet above the floor). When I was a kid I thought that this was the dorkiest thing ever, and I openly caught some flak from friends (so I know that there was ten times that amount being said behind my back). But now I look back at it and think about how cool it is that she not only had something to say, but she said it, social norms be damned.
Dad could fix anything around the house, and never hesitated to fix fence posts or replace windows. He’d just jump right in. He’s been dead for just over three years, and not a day has gone by since that I haven’t missed that gung-ho spirit.
Well, it was actually my stepmother and gives me the willies now. I was about 9 or 10 and we had gone shopping in St. Louis. When we got back to the car there were four guys (late teens/early twenties) sitting on the hood and generally looking as mean as possible.
My mother asked them to get off the car and got the “who’s gonna make me, bitch.” kind of response. One guy hauled out a small knife of some sort. I figured we were both going to be killed. My step mother reached in her purse, hauled out a .380 automatic and told them they could either get off her car or she’d just push the bodies out of the way.
They left posthaste and we drove home where my step-mother had a mini-breakdown. 
Testy
:eek:
Rocketeer
Yeah, that was about my reaction too. There’s no way I could do the dialect in print but you have to imagine this being said with a horrific corn-belt accent. The thing was that she was so totally convincing; no tremor to her hands, no hesitation, no emotions at all, and it came out totally convincing, Dirty Harry couldn’t have said it better.
I certainly had a different attitude toward my step-mother after that.
Regards
Testy
I was 9 or 10 and riding my bike home from school (this was in the 70s in suburban NJ.) I had to ride past the neighborhood bully and his friends and he pushed me off my bike. It wasn’t enough for him I guess, so he kicked me in the face too. I got back on my bike and rode home crying. When my mother heard what happened she went to my father’s closet and then told me to get in the car. We drove around until we saw the kid, and my mother rolled down the window and proceeded to lean out, wielding one of my father’s belts (with a huge buckle) and chased the kid down the block swinging it like a polo player. She never made contact but the point got across. He didn’t bother me again.
I just want to say again how much I have loved this thread- there are many things on which my parents and I differ, but I certainly learned from them, and have learned from all of the values and experiences posted here.
Warms the heart, and reinforces the hope that some of us are on the right track. 
You are good people, all.
My mother used to be a gymnast. Once when I was about 7, I came home from school and opened the front door. She was doing a headstand using the front door to brace herself, and I damn near knocked her over when I came in.
My grandparents get the coolness awards.
My maternal grandmother, who is in her sixties, regularly plays Katamari Damacy and Dance Dance Revolution on her Playstation 2. When I was in high school, she bought herself a set of Magic: The Gathering cards and joined in with all of us. She, like myself, is fascinated by just about everything, and whenever the newest technological craze comes along, she’s always one step ahead of everyone else. When I was little, she taught herself how to belly dance and lived for one year teaching English in Colombia, South America. She has a double Masters degree and graduated with a 4.0.
My paternal grandmother is in her 80s, and has been the state pool champion more than once over the last 15 years. Her basement is festooned with trophies, and whenever I play her, I watch this wrinkly old lady with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth kick my fucking ass. That’s pretty cool.
My (step)Dad is a biologist, and, always rejoiced in taking students on long term fieldtrips to Mexico, coinciding with his own research there. We’d pack up a big ol’ secondhand bus of students, and then proceed to travel and load it up with all kinds of specimens, some dried, some in formaldehyde jars.
I remember the night before we were to cross the border, and my Dad sternly told all the students that—this was the 70’s-- that **if **they had any sort of contraband Marihoochiejuana sort of substance, they would be left at the border. Well, this was the 70’s, so it was the case, then, that all kids were apt to be smokin’. But, I did think it cool of my Dad to take the day ahead and be the neccessary hardass, rather than have a bad scene at the border. And, to not have been an awful hardass and call out all students who did partake of that plant on the fieldtrip. Dad does not even drink alcohol, so it was, as iI saw it, a pretty fine case of decent equanimity.
OK, this is not something I saw him do directly, but in perusing my dad’s old high school yearbooks, I realized that he was his tiny (120 students in a town of 1500 people) high school’s first ever all-state football player. He played 60 minutes as a lineman on both lines, and marched at halftime as a trumpet player in the marching band. Now that’s a hard-working guy.
I think it’s sad that we sometimes forget just what awesome people our parents are, only remembering them as Mum and Dad but that’s what makes this thread awesome!
Mum:
She was always in secretarial jobs, she went to business college when she finished high school in New Zealand and she worked on and off when my brother and I were kids. But at around 40 years of age, she separated from my father and became a prison warden here in Australia. She’s a tiny woman, only 5’6 and about 50 kgs but she’s got the perfect demeanour for taking care of kids and crims.
Dad:
I’ve always been familiar with the fact that Dad is Ex-SAS from a time before I was born but it’s carried on in him for the rest of his life. The coolest (and at the time, most embarrassing) thing he’s ever done was when I was in year three. I went to a school in a poorer part of town, most of the kids’ fathers were nowhere to be found, the rest’s were unemployed, while my dad was a well-educated hard worker with a good job. One of the boys in my combined class (years 3 and 4) was in year 4 but old enough to be in year 6 and he was a bully. Mother was a druggie, dad was in prison and he sent me home in tears more than once.
On a school trip to an amusement park, Dad straightened this kid out. When he wouldn’t stop pressing the buttons on the bus, Dad said ‘stop it’ (the teachers did nothing to discipline this asshole child) and made him.
When we got to the park, he made this kid stand in the shade, while the rest of us stood in the sun (well I was kind of standing behind Dad wondering what the hell) and told everyone that the reason this kid misbehaved is that we, as peers, let him. And now, we would all be punished by standing in the sun while he sat in the shade until we realised that we couldn’t let him play up. We went into the amusement park and this kid turns asshole every five minutes after Dad has told him off. So the kid would wait ten minutes in line and just as he reached the front, Dad would pull him out. Now it’s important to note that this kid was bad news. The teachers had no control over him, he’d hit younger kids hard enough to really hurt them and they wouldn’t do anything.
This carried on the whole day and the kid finally behaves himself but Dad tells him that he won’t be allowed to play out with the other kids, he’d have to stay on the bench. We get back to school and he goes off with a basketball. Somehow, Dad managed to make everyone sit down until he came back and sat down. By the end of it, the rest of the class is hissing at the kid to go sit down. When this kid realized he’d lost his support (and as a typical bully, his strength), he went and sat down. But he made the mistake of cussing at my Dad.
Dad takes this kid around the corner, out of sight, and says to him that if he ever says something like that again to him, or me, or if he touches me, he’s dead. If any of his mates touch me, he’s dead. That he could kill this kid and no one would say a word.
It was utterly mortifying at the time but I realize now that this kid was slowly getting worse in his antisocial behaviour and the teachers did nothing to stop it. He actually stopped bullying kids for the most part after that because all of his ‘friends’ saw him for what he was and refused to give their support.
Mum:
That her most favourite day of college was the day she ate hash brownies, dressed up in bear outfit (college mascot) and went round all day doing mad things while nobody knew it was her in the suit.
That she left Zimbabwe for Northern Ireland…in the 70s, when it was a sort of “out of the frying pan, into the fire” situation.
That every year for the past 3 years she has gone to China to spend 2 weeks in an orphanage giving medical care to the disabled and sick babies, so that the full-time staff can have a holiday. She works in what used to be the “dying room”- it’s a state orphanage and a charity convinced them to let them have the room and care for the sick babies. It’s tough work.
That after 15 years of working part-time in medical research, she went back to working in clinical medicine, and now works part time as a doctor in oncology. That is not an easy area to work in.
That despite spending 3 days a week seeing cancer patients, she volunteers at the hospice on another day.
Dad:
That even when he was nearly bankrupted by his business partner, he picked himself up and kept going.
That he always spent Saturday mornings with his kids and made us a big roast Sunday lunch every week, even if he only came home after our bed-time Monday-Friday.
That he competed in the Olympics and several world championships in his chosen sport, which he did as an amateur.
That he can put a room of people at ease in seconds, and make them laugh with his stories for hours. Everyone loves my dad.
That last time mum went to China, he went too. He spent 2 weeks playing with the kids, and was probably the only man they’ve ever met apart from doctors. We have pictures of my dad with kids clinging to every limb and riding on his back, only his smile is bigger than theirs.
I’m lucky to have parents I love and who I can respect as people in their own right. They’re both amazing.
My parents still occasionally shock their grandkids by doing headstands. They’re in their late 60s.
My dad once built ten-speeds for my sister and me out of parts from bikes that had been in a pile of junk. I never think about how old he’s getting, because I’m sure he’s still stronger than me, as he cuts, rakes, bales and hauls hay for his herd of cows every year.
My mom has always found interesting things to keep her busy. Along with continuous charity work, she got a college degree when I was in high school, worked at a wildlife forensics lab, tested houses for radon when that was the latest media scare… She also runs. I think she still does an occasional marathon (but not as many as she used to), and she was an Olympic torch-bearer. She still holds age-group records for some of the local races.
Another of those things I didn’t see happen: My dad got mugged a few years ago. I forget exactly, but he would have been in his early seventies.
The way he tells it, he and a colleague were coming out of the building where they teach computer programming and so forth. (Which is another cool thing about him: he was into computers before there was even Usenet!) They’d stayed later than the students, so it was just them. Now, I don’t remember what, if anything, he said his colleague said, and this is a rough recreation. But it helps if you imagine all of RilchDad’s lines in a real Grumpy Old Man voice, never showing fear, mostly annoyance.
Two young guys, early twenties or so, headed for the doorway.
RilchDad: You’re too late; it’s closed–
Thug #1: Get down on the ground! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!
RilchDad: Come on, guys, you don’t wanna do this.
Thug #2: He said get down!
RilchDad: I’ve got arthritis. I don’t move so fast.
Thug #1: (pulls gun) Gimme your wallet!
RilchDad: (later, to me) See, that was his first mistake. He should have pulled the gun right away. (slowly gets down) Whaddya doing this for? For a few bucks, you wanna shoot someone?
Thug #1: Gimme your wallet! (reaches into RilchDad’s pocket, during which he neglects to point the gun at RilchDad)
RilchDad: (rolls away) Watch where you’re pointing that fucking thing. You’ll go to jail! (To me, later) See, the idiot could have pulled the trigger accidentally, and shot himself or his buddy or [colleague]!
Thug #2: Let’s get going, man.
Thug #1: (grabs notebook from RilchDad’s pocket) I got your wallet! (thugs run off)
RilchDad: (to me, later) And god damnit, that had all my notes for the next class!
Looking back, I suppose that’s not strictly cool. He still got robbed, even if it wasn’t his wallet, and he’s lucky this was not the kind of thug who would have shot him as soon as he said that about arthritis. But I get so upset when I hear about an elderly victim of a crime, and mostly because they’re usually described as having anxiety attacks or being depressed because of it. So I do think it’s cool that my dad just rolled with it. The guy must have felt like he was robbing Crankshaft.