It just occurred to me the last article I posted was called "Easter". Now it's "Fathers' Day". Explanation? I'm home, and not going anywhere for the first time in... gosh, five years? As much as that? Anyway, being in your hometown and surrounded by family you tend to gauge your life by calendar events; this is something nomads, orphans and Somali pirates might not share. But I am a 29 year-old manchild. And not Somalian.
So what memory does Fathers' Day stir up? And how can I tenuously link it to my obsessive love of GI Joe? Well, none really. No, dear reader, there were no GI Joes to be had on Fathers' Day. That would not make much sense. Instead I want to share a story about my old man.
It was 2003, I was nineteen and thanks to my job as a stripper in gay bars I could support my GI Joe hobby on my own. I had another hobby back then called Hip Hop Dance, and I used to do this Hip Hop Dance at competitions in the backwater halls of our nation. Not something a father with a love of rugby would necessarily rush to support. But he did, because I was his boy and he loved me. Aw.
But on this particular day, the Hip Hop Dance competition was happening in a corner of South Africa time forgot called Parow East. And for this GI Joe fan, Parow East had the notoriety for being the suburb where Factory Toys (that's the shop's name) resided. And Factory Toys is where I bought my Arctic Blast, Thunderclap, Sky Raven and Tomahawk decades after those toys' initial release.
Oh, yes, and I got a RADAR Rat.
Woo.
Hoo.
Stuck in the dingy Parow East Civic Center doing Hip Hop Dance, I couldn't very well pop in. But I was pretty sure at that stage I had successfully exhausted their GI Joe dead stock years prior. So I wasn't too cut up. But that good man I call dad nipped off to the store and came back with a plastic packet of vintage Joe goodness. He didn't have to. Strippers in gay bars make good enough dosh to buy their own toys.
In any case, I had been there recently enough and passed up all they had on offer as being undesirables. You know the kind - Star Brigade armored figures and the good ol' Battle Corps figures. But that didn't matter one jot. Dad had brought his now adult son action figures. Because he is a good and sweet and kind dad. And what he said as he handed over the loot are words I will never forget for as long as I live:
"I bought you some GI Joes my boy," and, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice, no doubt in case there were any agents of Cobra within earshot, he said:
"And one of them is a General."
I love that man. I could start listing his qualities. But I'll resist for no reason other than a fear of going against my blog's mission statement. But this guy, this man's man, had no reservations about indulging his son's oddball habit. And doing it not only without judgement, but with enthusiasm.
I love you Oubaas.
So what memory does Fathers' Day stir up? And how can I tenuously link it to my obsessive love of GI Joe? Well, none really. No, dear reader, there were no GI Joes to be had on Fathers' Day. That would not make much sense. Instead I want to share a story about my old man.
It was 2003, I was nineteen and thanks to my job as a stripper in gay bars I could support my GI Joe hobby on my own. I had another hobby back then called Hip Hop Dance, and I used to do this Hip Hop Dance at competitions in the backwater halls of our nation. Not something a father with a love of rugby would necessarily rush to support. But he did, because I was his boy and he loved me. Aw.
But on this particular day, the Hip Hop Dance competition was happening in a corner of South Africa time forgot called Parow East. And for this GI Joe fan, Parow East had the notoriety for being the suburb where Factory Toys (that's the shop's name) resided. And Factory Toys is where I bought my Arctic Blast, Thunderclap, Sky Raven and Tomahawk decades after those toys' initial release.
Oh, yes, and I got a RADAR Rat.
Woo.
Hoo.
Stuck in the dingy Parow East Civic Center doing Hip Hop Dance, I couldn't very well pop in. But I was pretty sure at that stage I had successfully exhausted their GI Joe dead stock years prior. So I wasn't too cut up. But that good man I call dad nipped off to the store and came back with a plastic packet of vintage Joe goodness. He didn't have to. Strippers in gay bars make good enough dosh to buy their own toys.
In any case, I had been there recently enough and passed up all they had on offer as being undesirables. You know the kind - Star Brigade armored figures and the good ol' Battle Corps figures. But that didn't matter one jot. Dad had brought his now adult son action figures. Because he is a good and sweet and kind dad. And what he said as he handed over the loot are words I will never forget for as long as I live:
"I bought you some GI Joes my boy," and, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice, no doubt in case there were any agents of Cobra within earshot, he said:
"And one of them is a General."
I love that man. I could start listing his qualities. But I'll resist for no reason other than a fear of going against my blog's mission statement. But this guy, this man's man, had no reservations about indulging his son's oddball habit. And doing it not only without judgement, but with enthusiasm.
I love you Oubaas.
The swag, in case you were wondering:
