"The ones that love us best
are the ones we'll lay to rest
and visit their graves on holidays at best.
The ones that love us least
are the one we'll die to please.
If it's any concelation
I don't begin to understand."
-The Replacements "Bastards of Young"
It's ironic, isn't it. For some reason, the past two days i've been boarderline obsessed with this lyric. I'm pretty sure paul is relating his tie to his parents with his tie to a (shall i shudder at this phrase) lost love.
I left home at 19 for the city. Originally, since my parents lived in the town which i was employed, i saw them on multiple ocassions a week. When they moved to Ramsey, it became, at best, once a week for dinner or on special occassions (usually we're looking at once every 2 weeks or so).
I have a pretty good relationship with my parents. When my mother came down with some unknown medical problem this year, i came face to face with their mortality. It's a frightening thing.
My grandparents are burried at fort snelling. Every appropriate holiday (ie mother's day, Vet's day) my parents make a pilgramidge to the US Army's grave yard. Prior to this, sunday was "Let's visit the grandparents" day. My grandmother would ask me how my orchestra was doing and i'd have to correct her and say that it was a band. My grandfather (in the later years) would attempt to ask me how whatever sport i was in was going. A stroke had taken most of his speech away, yet a toothpick always hung from the right corner of his mouth. Whenever he struggled to find a word, rather than embarass him by attempting to guess the next syllable in support, i would look at the tooth pick, swaying from left to right, watching his teeth close down on it, and know that he was trying, showing a general interest in my life.
I wish i had been older when he passed. He was involved in WW2 and, as traumatic as it may have been for him to relay an encounter, i would have loved to have know what he saw. I wish i could have asked him more about my history, his history, our history.
Both of my grandparents passed around the time i started dating this one girl. At the time i wish she could have met them. Now, after 4-5 years, i'm finally attempting to stop breaking my back for her.
I honestly thought we were going to end up like my grandparents; together, old, passing on right after the other.
After the past 2 years of trying to bend over backwards to please her, i finally realize that there hasn't been anything there for 3 years (about the time she started sleeping around).
The ones that love us least...
I wish i would have spent more time with my grandparents. I've become entrigued with my family history, wanting to know every last detail.
I've been thinking about tatoos for the last 2 years. One my left shoulder, i will more than likely be getting a polish eagle to represent my herritage (or maybe a jar of saurkraut? just kidding). On my right arm, 2 balck armbands, a small amount of space to show to line that never truley match up but for a second, almost touch.
Of the irony of the replacements lyrics in my life.
Sorry if this is some long boring dribble. I'm really not that melancholy. That just kinda comes thorugh in "drunk writings."
"We are the son's of no one. Bastards of the young."
are the ones we'll lay to rest
and visit their graves on holidays at best.
The ones that love us least
are the one we'll die to please.
If it's any concelation
I don't begin to understand."
-The Replacements "Bastards of Young"
It's ironic, isn't it. For some reason, the past two days i've been boarderline obsessed with this lyric. I'm pretty sure paul is relating his tie to his parents with his tie to a (shall i shudder at this phrase) lost love.
I left home at 19 for the city. Originally, since my parents lived in the town which i was employed, i saw them on multiple ocassions a week. When they moved to Ramsey, it became, at best, once a week for dinner or on special occassions (usually we're looking at once every 2 weeks or so).
I have a pretty good relationship with my parents. When my mother came down with some unknown medical problem this year, i came face to face with their mortality. It's a frightening thing.
My grandparents are burried at fort snelling. Every appropriate holiday (ie mother's day, Vet's day) my parents make a pilgramidge to the US Army's grave yard. Prior to this, sunday was "Let's visit the grandparents" day. My grandmother would ask me how my orchestra was doing and i'd have to correct her and say that it was a band. My grandfather (in the later years) would attempt to ask me how whatever sport i was in was going. A stroke had taken most of his speech away, yet a toothpick always hung from the right corner of his mouth. Whenever he struggled to find a word, rather than embarass him by attempting to guess the next syllable in support, i would look at the tooth pick, swaying from left to right, watching his teeth close down on it, and know that he was trying, showing a general interest in my life.
I wish i had been older when he passed. He was involved in WW2 and, as traumatic as it may have been for him to relay an encounter, i would have loved to have know what he saw. I wish i could have asked him more about my history, his history, our history.
Both of my grandparents passed around the time i started dating this one girl. At the time i wish she could have met them. Now, after 4-5 years, i'm finally attempting to stop breaking my back for her.
I honestly thought we were going to end up like my grandparents; together, old, passing on right after the other.
After the past 2 years of trying to bend over backwards to please her, i finally realize that there hasn't been anything there for 3 years (about the time she started sleeping around).
The ones that love us least...
I wish i would have spent more time with my grandparents. I've become entrigued with my family history, wanting to know every last detail.
I've been thinking about tatoos for the last 2 years. One my left shoulder, i will more than likely be getting a polish eagle to represent my herritage (or maybe a jar of saurkraut? just kidding). On my right arm, 2 balck armbands, a small amount of space to show to line that never truley match up but for a second, almost touch.
Of the irony of the replacements lyrics in my life.
Sorry if this is some long boring dribble. I'm really not that melancholy. That just kinda comes thorugh in "drunk writings."
"We are the son's of no one. Bastards of the young."