Of First Borns

My dad was a first born. I was a middle child. I'll gladly admit that I play up the middle child syndrome whenever I can.

I hide from attention. He seeks it. I blame this on birth order.

My dad has a weird ability to gather attention in a unusual manner. Whether it by dress or confusing the hell out of the waiter by talking about something that only he understands.

As a child, you learn quickly how to divert, ignore, or otherwise avoid the gaze of your friends when your father is mowing the lawn in bellbottoms the size of manhole covers and and big Circular blue Elton John glasses. This would happen in 1987 mind you. Which, unfortunaltely, was the brief period in which 70's fashion was out because it wasn't the 1970's anymore and before the time in the 1990's when it was cool to be nostalgic about it.

Obviously, a teenager being embarrassed by their parents is nothing new. In fact, I suppose its a mandatory stage in the coming of age process.

But this awkwardness never fully left me. I still feel the need to warn my friends. But its for their own good, in my opinion. "Yes, my dad most likely will have the pricetag on his obviously new shirt. He meant to leave it there and will have a story about the good deal he got ready for that someone who tries to be nice and let him know that a "Clearance $.94" tag is on his sleeve. Its best just to let it go." or "No, you can't move that weird looking bear out of the backseat of the car. My dad has befriended and named him, therefore that's his seat and he stays there. Just ignore it. Yes, I know its missing an eye and a bit frightening at night, sorry."

I know to the outsider its cute, harmless, and quirky. But this is where I invoke my birth order argument. As a middle child, I'm alien to the concept of seeking attention, so when my dad does things that get him attention, I get uncomfortable. I love him, but we're just different that way.

Or at least I thought.

When my parents came to visit last week I invited my dad to play poker with my usual weekly game. In true form, halfway through the game he excitedly broke out a few "beers" that he had found and presented them to the group. 1 was a beer with yeast from a sunken 1865 vessel. 1 was essentially a bottle of Malt liquor that I still can't figure out why he bought. But his prize offering was a 6 pack of "Minnesota's Brew" which from my experince in liquor stores in MN, sits alone in the cooler because even Natty Light and Keystone and embarrassed to be seen with it. A couple of us took a can and drank it with watering eyes. (okay, it wasn't that awful, but it still was pretty bad).

I relayed this story to my friends back in Minnesota. And got this response:

Pete, have you already forgotten that you had a 6-pack of Minnesota Brew in my fridge for like two years? We finally used the last can for brats shortly before moving last year. Realizing you were never coming back for the beer.


Holy mother of God. Upon reading that, I got a flood of a memory that years ago upon seeing the "Minnesota's Brew" sitting in the cooler unwanted, I bought a 6 pack and made a big deal to the party I brought it to about how it was "Minnesota's Brew" and that all being Minnesotan's, we should be drinking it. It was our responsibility. I mean, it said it right there on the can. It was our beer, why weren't we drinking it?

So, What did this coincidence mean?

I was like the defendant on the witness stand. And the prosecutor.

"Did you or did you not once wear Blue Blocker sunglasses to a poker game to get a rise out of people?"
"Yes...but"
"And are planning on wearing a headband for the same reasons?"
"Yes"
"And its been that you have been known to bring weird beers and objects to parties"
"Yes, that's true"
"Aren't these exactly the kinds of things your dad would do to get attention?"
"Yes"
"So doesn't this render you birth order attention style theory false?"
".....Yes, damn it! I'll admit it. Its all lies! I'm more of my father than I'd ever admit!"

(cue swelling music and a sobbing Pete)

and scene.