Part III/Dude-ism #74
After we watched the marching band practice, we headed over to tailgate with my good friends from college and their families. (LOVE these reunions. Miss you guys!)
A crucial aspect of a good tailgate is a solid music selection. One of my best friends from college fancies himself a DJ, so he’s the one who puts together the playlists for these tailgates. He selects a range of music that appeals to the parents in the group (Aerosmith, Rolling Stones, The Temptations) as well as the 20-somethings (basically anything Top 40). Once he has the music set, he connects his iPod to a very large speaker and lets it go.
As you know, Dude has a love affair with music of all kinds. The kid listens to Top 40, classic rock, samba, opera, country, classical, smooth jazz, jazz standards, etc.
Dude parked himself in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the speaker and stared intently at the music source the entire time we were at the tailgate (which was about an hour and a half). Our attempts to coax him over to the group were completely futile. Every once in awhile, Dad or I would bring over some chips or a cookie for Dude to munch on, but he wouldn’t move. He stood there, humming and singing along.. Sometimes singing the appropriate words and sometimes throwing in words about Maryland instead.
Soon, it was time for us to head up to the performing arts center so we could see the band do the Truck. We thought Dude would be thrilled at the prospect.
Not so much.
“Dude, it’s time to go see the band truck,” Mom said.
“Not yet. Not yet,” Dude replied insistently.
“Well too bad. Cause we’re going.”
Normally Dude is pretty compliant. However, when Mom, Dad, and I started walking, Dude did not. We turned around and he was still standing right next to the speaker.
Mom doubled back to get him. She reached out to grab his arm, thinking this would prompt him to move.
Nope. Dude stood glued to the spot, with Mom pulling on his arm.
I went back to help. I pushed Dude’s back lightly, trying to offset his balance so we could get him moving. Dude has low muscle tone, so normally it doesn’t take much.
No luck. It’s like the kid got freakishly strong AND had cement shoes on.
While all this is happening, all my friends from college were standing there, drinking their beers, bemusedly watching this exchange take place. They are all very familiar with and very welcoming of Dude, but they had never seen him in action quite like this before.
With Mom pulling, me pushing, and Dad being no help whatsoever standing a few feet away holding his side because he was laughing so hard, we were finally able to budge Mr. Dude.
Dude, however, got the last word in.
“Son of a bee-sting,” he muttered as we walked toward CSPAC. Only he didn’t say bee-sting like they did in Anchorman. (We STILL don’t know where he got this from, as it isn’t a phrase that is used in my parents’ household at all.)