I Am Not a Grandfather!

Everyone once in a while life has a way of imitating Monty Python.  One of my favorite sketches involves the communistic peasant "Dennis" talking politics with Arthur, King of the Britons.  Here's the opening of the sketch.

Arthur:  Old woman!


Dennis:  Man!


Arthur: Man, sorry.


Dennis:  I'm 37.


Arthur:  What?


Dennis:  I'm 37.  I'm not old.  

Arthur:  I just can't call you "man."

Dennis:   You could say "Dennis."


Arthur:  I didn't know you were called Dennis.


Dennis:  You didn't bother to find out now, did you?  Just because I'm down here on the ground doesn't mean I should be automatically treated as an inferior.


Arthur:  Well, I am king....

Dennis:  Oh, king, eh, very nice.  And how'd you get that, then?  By exploiting the workers.  By hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma that continues to perpetuate itself in our society.  If there's ever to be any progress...

Anyway.  Sumie was on call this past Sunday and Mimi and I needed to get out of the house, so we drove over to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Pleasanton.  While there, we hit the park.  And while there, at least for a little bit, life imitated Python. 

As Mimi played with Grandma...

I got to talking with a fellow father who had come by with his five year old son.  Shortly into our conversation he looked over at Mimi and asked, "Is that your granddaughter... er, or daughter?"

Granted, I look old for my age.  I get that.  The last time I was carded for alcohol was when I was in High School.  But I really don't think I look like a grandfather just yet. 

That grandfather comment, even if only a Freudian slip, left me a bit out of sorts.  Imagine how a 64 year old woman would feel if she was honestly carded for buying beer.  Now imagine the complete opposite of that.  That's basically how I felt.  The fellow who called me grandpa was actually quite nice, and I enjoyed talking with him, but the fact that he was 45 didn't really pick up my spirits. 

After Mimi gave us her impression of the boy in the bubble...

it was time to head back to Grandma's house.  A few books and a bottle later, Mimi was down for her nap. 

About five minutes after she went down, Randy came out and asked me if I'd like to play 9 holes at the local pitch and putt course.  I hadn't golfed in at least 15 years, but agreed to give it a go.  We had a fantastic time.  I'd liked playing golf in the past, but always got too frustrated and angry when things went wrong to really enjoy it.  This time out we decided not to keep score, and that made a huge difference.  I'm thinking of starting to play more and, if I do, I think that's how I'll start.  No score.  Just fun and a little exercise. 

Hmm.  Looking back over this post, maybe that guy at the park was more insightful than I thought.  I'm a balding, overweight man who recently gave up his long term career, spends most of his time at home, and is thinking of taking up golf.  If it weren't for the lack of grandchildren, I guess I could be a grandpa. 

Dolores Park: Hipsters and Homeless in the Hills of SF

There are few things better than a great city park on a Sunday afternoon.  They are, in contrast to the grinding hustle of the city, oases for the body and mind.  Places where you can sit only five feet from your closest neighbor but still be a world away.  Sumie and I love them.  

In NYC, we made the most of our parks.  It was a rare weekend that we didn't hit Riverside, Carl Shurz, or Central park in spring and summer.  So, when San Francisco presented us with a 65+ degree Sunday in January, we figured we'd make the most of it.

We considered taking the short walk over to Golden Gate Park, our current back yard, but then held off.  The park is genuinely breathtaking in both acreage and beauty, but the massive scope of the park tends to make it a bit impersonal.  We wanted a place where we'd be rubbing shoulders and sharing sod with our urban neighbors.  A place where people watching outweighs peace and quiet.  And so we hit Dolores Park. 

Dolores Park, nestled between the Mission and Castro neighborhoods, is famous for its city views, sloping lawns, and permissiveness.  As we circled the park looking for a parking spot (we eventually found one atop what must be the third steepest hill in San Francisco) we noticed a light haze hanging over the lawns.  "Must be moisture evaporating off the grass," we thought.  It wasn't until we settled down on our picnic mat that we realized we were only kind off right.  Grass was causing the haze, only not the type we were sitting on. 

We found a relatively quiet spot overlooking the city and the children's playground (under construction, unfortunately) and got down to the business of relaxing.  Mimi followed suit.  For about 7 minutes.  Just as the sun was really beginning to soak in, Mimi decided it was time for soccer. 

Her ball control has really improved over the past several months.  We've turned to working on throw-ins as well.  These are Mimi's favorite.  I think she deliberately kicks to ball out of bounds just to throw it back in again.

Tiring of soccer, Mimi joined us back on the mat and people watched.  Well, Sumie and I people watched while Mimi dog watched.  I haven't seen that many dogs here in San Francisco - nothing like the Upper East Side - but I got my fill at Dolores park.  There were at least 20 dogs of different breeds, from dachshund to doberman, circling our small plot of lawn.  And they were all off leash.  This led to one ecstatic little girl.  It also led to a few anxious owners who'd lost track of their pooches - they were the ones walking alone with a leash in one hand, a doggie treat in the other, and a squinty look of "Where's that damn dog?" on their faces - and one man who, having lost his dog, had inadvertently gotten lost himself. 

The mix of people in the park was considerable.  The lawns were dotted with families, couples (of all iterations), bleary-eyed students, unshaven hipsters, the ever-shuffling homeless, singles with books, singles with drugs, and the occasional wide-eyed tourist.  Everyone was out enjoying the sun and fresh air - though I think half were doing so to escape the house and the other half to nurse a hangover.  Speaking of nursing hangovers, about halfway into our stay a man came walking down the hill yelling out, "Cold beer!"  This was fantastic.  I didn't partake, but I loved the man's approach.  Other substances were being sold at the park "under the table," so to speak, but here was a man who had cold beer and just wanted to know if you happened to want one.  It reminded me of being at a ball game.  Unfortunately, a burrito guy never came by. 

After about 2 hours of lazing about, it was time for Mimi's nap and for us to head home.  As we walked up the slope toward our car we snatched a final snapshot of the Dolores Park's awesome views. 

This is definitely a great city park.  One of San Francisco's best oases and one we'll be coming back to soak in soon.