We don't know this for sure, but it makes perfect sense. He has a doctorate in political science and worked in city government. He is also a world traveler. And wherever he goes, a foreign dignitary gets injured. Or dies. Pope John? Uncle1 was in Malta. Viktor Yushchenko's poisoning? Uncle1 was in the Ukraine. The obvious conclusion is that he is an assassin. Not a good one, apparently, but still. You simply cannot chalk all that up to coincidence, am I right?
It's a theory.
We have others.
One day, after spending 28 years as his daughter, my dad told me that he owned land in El Paso, Texas. Husband at the time was stationed there with the US Army. My dad wanted Husband's phone number in Texas so he could have Husband check on his land. I was skeptical. And not just of the idea of Husband checking some random land in western Texas that heretofore had been unknown to me.
I asked my mom about the El Paso land. I mean, she and the mailman probably have equitable knowledge on my dad, despite 40-plus years of marriage. But I had to start somewhere.
That was when she told me my dad also owned land in Maryland and Las Vegas. Las Vegas! I knew about Maryland, but Las Vegas? At that point I was thinking I had basically spent my life being the Ivanka Trump of Willow Grove. I just didn't know it.
Don't get too jazzed, my mom warned me. The Las Vegas land had been eminent domained. And the annual tax on the El Paso land is $2.60. I'm not joking and I didn't misplace the decimal. I wrote the check for that tax while my mom was sick. You have to pay it on time though, or else it goes up to a staggering $2.61 after 6 months of delinquency. That nonsense will break you.
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| My parents' house being built in the early 1970's. For anyone counting, that's my dad's fourth property. |
It's no surprise I didn't know my dad was a real estate mogul. He uses retread tires and shops in thrift stores. Who ever would have thought he'd buy land? And it is my fault for not knowing anyway. After all, I never asked him if he owned land in El Paso and Las Vegas. I mean, it was on my list. I just hadn't gotten to it yet. I hadn't even asked if my uncle had a trach when he was a teenager. When you have to ask your dad every question in the world to get any details whatsoever on his life, there's so much to ask and precious little time to do it in. I mean, I have to sleep sometime.
And so, in that hotel room where Uncle Sam had put Husband for his stay, Husband and I developed our theory. I suppose, as newlyweds in forced separation for two months, we should have been trying to break a few of the Army's laws on carnality. For reasons we still don't recall, my dad's secret life as a land baron took priority. Maybe I was out of practice. My dad, had he known, would likely have been thrilled to know his baby girl wasn't defiling a government-funded hotel room, even if it was with a son-in-law he liked.
So we wove a story about my dad, fueled by some fine hops and maybe some tequila. By the time we were done, my dad not only owned the aforementioned United States properties. He had also managed to get elected president of Paraguay, like C-3PO and the Ewoks. His face is on the Paraguayan currency. It's the only currency in the world to depict it's leader wearing a Phillies cap.
So I asked my dad. Are you, in fact, president of Paraguay? He only laughed. You're not going to get him to talk unless he's in the mood, and I have yet to catch him in the mood to discuss his presidency.
I moved onto my mom. They've been married since 1969. She knows about his land holdings. Surely, as his wife - and first lady - she would know if he was president of Paraguay. But I got nowhere. "How would I know?" she asked. "He doesn't tell me anything." But you knew about the land ownership, I persisted. Well, only because she got the tax bill the first year they were married.
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| Oh, Mom. Doesn't the president of Paraguay have people to do that? |
It may sound crazy that she knows nothing about a man she shares DNA with, but I know for a fact my parents only talk about their cat and gas prices. A few years ago there was a Marine Corps reunion at a defunct base in Tennessee. My dad wanted to go. Quite reasonably my mom objected -my dad had never been stationed in Tennessee. Why go?
Yes, you guessed it. My dad had, in fact, been stationed in Tennessee. My mom was apoplectic. He was just sharing this now, after 30-plus years of marriage? I don't know why she was so twisted. It certainly wasn't the first - or last- time my dad peeled back a layer of his onion. She's not even alone. My dad's brother found out I was getting married when I sent him the invitation. Sure, he lives in Florida. But he and my dad talk every Sunday. Every. Sunday. My siblings and cousins and I often begin visits with, "Hey, did you know my/your dad...?"
Anyway, the Tennessee thing was classified, and my dad would give up no good reason why he had been there, why it had been classified, or why he could talk now. Years later, when he refused to see Argo, I suggested that it probably was because he'd been there. He was, after all, an embassy guard, and if anyone had ever thought to ask him "hey, were you at the Iranian embassy during the hostage crisis?" he probably would have laughed and told them absolutely nothing. He probably owns land there, too.
Last week, Husband and I saw Spectre (awesome, go see it). As we sat through the end credits, we were in no way shocked to see that one of the executive producers had the same exact name as my dad.
So I'm also the Sofia Coppola of Willow Grove.
Wendi's Binge of the Week:
This Binge is a compilation of my all-time favorite books. I like a tight, well-written story. I hope these hit the mark for you as they did for me. This list is by no means comprehensive and I reserve the right to add or change anything in the list as I see fit because it's my blog.
The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. Don't let the title or the subject matter (vampires) stop you.
The Alienist by Caleb Carr. Ever wonder what it was like to track a serial killer before there were serial killers? It makes for a compulsive read.
Red Dragon by Thomas Harris. Way better than the movie.
Christine by Stephen King. Also way better than the movie. Stephen King is too easily dismissed as a master of horror, but what makes his horror masterful is the story he builds.
All The King's Men by Robert Penn Warren. Yes, it's literature. Read it anyway.
Evil Angels by John Bryson. The true story of the dingo, the baby he ate, and the fallout from it. It's a hard book to find. You may borrow mine.
The Winter King, Enemy of God, and Excalibur, other wise known as "The Arthur Books", by Bernard Cornwell. Yep, he's the guy that wrote The Last Kingdom, which is a really good show on BBC (it would make Wendi's Binge if it had nudity). The Arthur Books are a retelling of the Arthurian legend. You'll never look at it the same way again.
A Wilderness of Error, by Erol Morris. A very true story about a man who may or may not have killed his family but has been in prison for decades anyway.
The Fever Series, by Karen Marie Moning. For the ladies. Hang in there til Book 3. You'll thank me.
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