Harshing the Vibe

Some parents just don't get it.

Tonight Paul was getting ready to go out. I think he said he and his cousin Dan were getting Thai food.

Everything’s new to him because he just moved to Spokane. Last week, at a family get-together, I heard Dan say they should hang out.

It was sweet. Paul was excited. He wore a nice belt and even put on some cologne.

I didn’t know he knew what cologne was.

But things are changing. He’s super thin now and looks like a baller, though I suspect he doesn’t realize this.

He cares about it enough that I might be cramping his style. Harshing the vibe.

It made me think: Though he was cool most of the time, nobody could harsh the vibe like my dad. For example, when I was a kid, he used to walk around the house in his underwear.

Sometimes it was holy, and I don’t mean religious.

One time, at my grandmother’s — his mother-in-law’s, which makes this story even funnier — he fell down a flight of stairs. He was drinking, probably a little drunk, and he slipped and butt-thudded all the way to the basement.

He couldn’t walk. He could barely get up. Later he would find out he cracked his pelvis.

None of that mattered when they got to the ER. He would not take off his pants.

I can only imagine the conversation.

Mr. McGowan, we’ve got to get those pants off to find out what we’re dealing with.

Nope.

We can’t do anything unless we get them off.

Hell no.

Apparently it was a real problem. I think my mom said they doped him on pain pills until he didn’t care. He might have even passed out.

They all had a good laugh when they finally got them off and saw his underwear. My mom said it was basically a G-string.

Well, that’s who taught me. The only difference is neither woman I married could take it as far as my mom. There’s only so much third-wave feminists can tolerate.

Nevertheless, I have been known to walk around the house in my underwear. In my mind, the fact that they are in one piece… well, that’s just progress.

As Paul was leaving — “Dan’s here,” he said, which I thought meant he was waiting in the car — I was doing several things at the same time, including trying to get ready to ride my cycling trainer downstairs.

In my defense, I’ve had almost a year in this house sans children. So I might have kicked it up a notch.

To make a long story short, I was down to my underwear when Paul told me Dan was here. He’s a sweet kid. He doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. He doesn’t want to say it.

Harshing the vibe. Does anyone say that anymore? Other than old people like me, probably not. I might be harshing the vibe by saying harshing the vibe.

We were in the kitchen. I was holding the laundry basket. Because I’m also doing laundry. Paul started toward the front of the house. Okay, I said, have fun, be careful, etc., a la Don McGowan.

Then I remembered the house key situation. He was going out the front door, which I knew he did not have a key for.

“Here,” I said, setting the laundry basket down, “I’ll lock the door behind you.”

I made it as far as the dining room. I could see Dan’s head on the other side of the door.

Dude. Don’t harsh the vibe.

“Nooooooo!!!” said Paul, waving me off.

“Oh…” I said, finally understanding the situation.

Embarrassed, I shuffled back to the kitchen.

The older I get, the cluelesser. Wish I could say wiser.