Every summer my parents have a lip-sync rock-n-roll party. Well, almost every summer. They've been hosting since the year 1986 and have only cancelled twice. Last summer my mom shelved the operation because she broke her arm, and when I was in 8th grade the party was abandoned because Mom gave one of her kidneys to her sister. Those two rare occurrences aside, my parents have been holding it for over twenty years. My brother, sister, and myself weren't allowed to go until we were "of age."
The house transforms into a hippie stronghold. Posters of Jim Morrison, The Beatles, Bob Marley, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Woodstock, etc. adorn the walls. Large tie-dyed tapestries swathe the ceilings. Incense burns. A bar with bartender intact is a necessity. Everyone arrives bedecked in 60's or 70's clothing, or as a musical artist. Someone might bring whacko-tobacco brownies. There are roughly twenty performances each year. It's quite the procedure.
Two summers ago I went for the first time. This fabulous year was... eventful, to say the least. After the lip syncs were over my sober father decided to play catch-up. He achieved this by inhaling innumerable shots in rapid succession. This, as it turns out, is not an advisable method of inebriation. Within an hour and a half he was lying on the floor of the upstairs hallway. His tie-dyed pants in a twist, his long wavy blonde wig on his head sideways, and his patched vest barely covering his back completed the ensemble. Five o'clock in the morning found him in the hot tub with my cousin, sister, and the son of one of his softball teammates who is my age. My dad resolved he was, in fact, hot, and sat up on the edge of the hot tub. Then he spoke.
"You're my niece," he said to my cousin and pointed at her.
"You're my daughter," he said as he pointed at my sister.
"You're J-Man," he said as he pointed at the friend's son.
"You're you," he said and pointed up to the sky.
And then he fell. My dad fell backwards out of the hot tub. They watched as his feet flew up in the air and as he fell to the ground and rolled, wet, down the bark-covered hill to come to a stop a little ways down. Those remaining in the hot tub erupted in hilarity. J-Man ran down the hill to retrieve the party's host. My dad eventually made it to his room to find three people in his bed. When my mom had gone to bed earlier she had discovered the party's emcee and his girlfriend asleep. Instead of expending effort in moving them she came to the conclusion that it was a big bed and it could fit three people. She got in. While it is a big bed it can't fit four people. Dad fell asleep on the floor next to the bed. He awoke the next morning to find bark from the yard enveloping the floors of his room, bathroom, and closet.
"Who the hell got bark all over my room?" he asked.
His face reflected puzzlement when we informed him that he was the cause of the bark-plagued room.
That morning we rehashed the affairs of the night before. My mom told us she found one of my dad's softball teammates peeing in the wine closet thinking he was in a bathroom. We came to find out that he had spent the night but had left the next morning to go to work. While driving he got pulled over by a cop. The cop gave him a breathalyzer, and he failed, thus procuring a DUI. The morning after!
