We headed west a few weeks back, predominately uphill, through wind, snow, and dark of night, so that the family could be together to celebrate the 22nd year of our daughters head first exit of the womb. For those planning such an event, head first is preferred by all persons and personnel involved.

Sierra doesn’t recall much from that day, which is probably for the best, as I recall lots of yelling, unflattering accusations, name calling, fist shaking, and finger flipping in St. Luke’s Hospital that afternoon. How was I supposed to know that was the last piece of finger jello in the hospital cafeteria? Never mess with a hypoglycemic nun eight hours into her twelve hour shift.

I don’t even like finger jello, but they say you get to see the world through the eyes of a child when you become a parent, so I gave it a shot. Not the first, or most likely last, error this dad will be charged with attempting to navigate this rule-less game of parenthood. The kids are 22 and 18 now, old enough to make their own errors, and then lay the blame squarely on shoddy upbringing.

The blame can be laid, but like the dog crap in the yard you were asked to take care of nine years ago, it will not be picked up. It might stink for a while, get squished and smeared around a bit, but eventually it will dry up and disappear without a trace. If only we had taken them to Disney Land. The “Tragic Kingdom” would have made up for all of our parental failings. So it goes.

Maybe if we become grandparents, in the very distant future, we will take our grandchildren to have Mickey Mouse and the gang purify their souls. Probably not, I’m putting my life in grave danger with this confession, but I hate Mickey Mouse. As a wee lad I was excited to watch Fantasia for the first time when it was broadcast as the NBC Sunday Night Movie.

The excitement faded quicker than dry pajama bottoms on a potty training toddler and NBC at midnight. The excitement of us kids having control over what was on the television for a bit, was quickly replaced by a lifelong repulsion towards all things Mickey Mouse. Walt & Roy Disney lost a fan, gained an enemy, and by proxy potentially ruined my children’s lives, because I refused to make a pilgrimage to their mouse infested magical world of landfill fodder.

I guess to a kid whose television viewing had mostly been comprised of M.A.S.H., Gun Smoke, and Quincy, Fantasia was bit too far removed from my “normal”, and my normal is pretty far removed. Too odd, a bit creepy, and lacking in all things entertaining. That was my 8-year old self’s review of Fantasia. Two Bugle’s snack adorned thumbs down.

Speaking of “crap”, Sierra has been missing our black lab, Pre, quite a bit since abandoning all of us for college. Her birthday wish was that we bring him for her birthday, and she would return him when she came home for Thanksgiving. We talked it over with Pre, he was a little hesitant, but thought maybe it was time he do a little traveling now that he’s in his 60’s.

Sierra’s boss at Movie Lovers (yes there are still video stores surviving out there) brings her dog to work, so Sierra was anxious to bring her dog to work as well. Shortly after arriving at his first day on the job, Pre left a calling card on the floor to let the boss’s dog know that he appreciated the opportunity to work at Movie Lovers.

Pre got let go. Maybe that was his plan, maybe at 60-years old he came to Bozeman to take up philosophy at the university or be a street mime, and he felt this video store gig would stifle his creativity.

Or, he found Fantasia, and anatomically unable to give a thumbs down, laid down what he felt was the appropriate review. Mickey Mouse is to blame for the whole mess, but Sierra had to clean it up. Will this mouse’s terrorism of this family ever cease?

It’s all so goofy.