Closet Cusser

Unbeknownst to most, dad is a bit of a closet cusser.  You wouldn't know it because he controls it very well, but deep inside him there are some Brinkerhoff genes. I think he gets it from his mom, Anne Brinkerhoff Blair Heaton (bless her heart). It comes with the red hair so I'm keeping a close eye on Cayden as it is clear he's wired just like dad. 

Like I said dad keeps it under control and it's only apparent through brief windows of danger or fear. As luck would have it, I am usually with him at those moments so I see through the window more often than others. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about the mouth of a sailor. It's the much more old-fashioned, four-letter-word kind of swearing. You know, more classy cussing. 

I can remember one such instance when I saw through the window and it still makes me laugh. We were up at the cabin snowmobiling. Like many of our troublesome moments, it started with dad saying "I wonder if we can get way over there."  Mom usually sends me along for threat assessment at this exact moment. Dad wanted to ride the snowmobiles down below the Bountiful Peak road. Just north and west of the peak. 

There was a narrow spot that looked safe to cross. I performed a quick assessment, it passed, and dad was first to try. As he throttled the snowmobile higher it became apparent that the spot we were aiming for was a little steeper then we thought. On top of that, the sun had warmed the snow enough to soften it, making it difficult to get the snowmobile to obey commands. 

(TO BE CLEAR: we were in no real danger to life and limb, mom. More just in danger of getting stuck and walking home...which wouldn't be a first -- hence my assessment.)

At one point it became very clear that dad needed to make a quick turn to avoid a long afternoon of digging the snowmobile out. What is funny is that dad must have been a hundred yards away at that point and he was on top of a loud snowmobile.  Despite all that, he somehow entered a magical echo chamber in which the sounds he made -- and the word they formed -- were carried effortlessly down the mountain to where I stood with burning ears. 

Fortunately, dad completed the turn and rode back down to where I was waiting. We continued on as we usually do. Later on that day I asked: "So what did you say when you had to turnaround up there?" He looked at me and the smile on my face conveyed that this wasn't really a question. Dad smiled and we continued on.  

There have been a few of those experiences before and after, and it always made the time with dad that much better. When he wakes up and reads this we may have another one of those. I am looking forward to it.