a Friday flashback

If you don't know my dad, you are missing out. A lot. My dad is very funny. Not the kind of funny like telling jokes. But he's just funny. Funny things happen to him. Maybe you wouldn't think they're funny, but if you have the sense of humor like we do, they're hysterical.

Before we get into this week's Friday flashback, here's a few things you need to know:

1. My immediate family (mom, brother, and Aaron), but especially me and my mom, find it hilarious when something awkward, painful, or stupid happens to my dad.
2. By painful, I obviously don't mean that in a way you might think. If my dad was ever seriously hurt, we wouldn't think it was funny (at least not right away).
3. My dad is a good sport, and he knows we all laugh at him because we love him so...he can't seem to help the situations he gets into.
4. He certainly can't help it that he can't always hear well which often leads to his dismay.

I have story upon story about my dad that I can't wait to share with you. One at a time though!

Let's flashback to...

2006...

My grandparents on my mom's side moved from Pennsylvania to Tennessee several years ago. They used to live in a campground on the Little River in Townsend, TN. We would go visit for a week every summer and stay in a cabin next to them. We would have an unplugged week tubing down the river, laying by the pool, having campfires, and enjoying the beautiful Smoky Mountains.

A Tennessee camping trip isn't complete without having hotdogs cooked over the fire for at least one meal!

I love roasting hotdogs over the fire.

I also love hearing stories my grandparents tell.

Those two things seem innocent enough...right?

That summer, the six of us were sitting around the fire roasting hotdogs. It was still light outside, and my grandma was in the middle of an interesting story that I just don't remember anymore thanks to the events that were about to unfold.

I had roasted my hotdog to near perfection, and was ready to fix it up with a bun and some ketchup and mustard. All of the hotdog supplies were at the picnic table about 10 feet away.

Not wanting to miss a second of my grandma's story, I hurried to the table, hotdog on a stick in hand, grabbed a paper plate and the bag of buns, and walked back over to the fire.

As I fumbled with the bag tie on the buns, my grandma finished her story. It would now be much easier to finish assembling my dinner at the table. I turned around, and that's when it happened.

My hot, greasy, just off the flames hotdog spun around to where my dad was innocently roasting his own hotdog.

And what are the chances...it went right between his glasses and into his eyeball.

He screamed.

I gasped and jerked the stick away flinging his glasses to the ground.

My grandma jumped up.

My grandpa looked on in confusion.

My mom died laughing.

And I lost it too.

My poor dad was rubbing his eye and trying to find his glasses.

My grandma went in to get him a cold, wet towel to wipe his eye off.

My grandpa stared at my mother and I quite disapprovingly.

We managed to ask my dad if he was okay in between our uncontrollable laughter.

"I'm...so...sorry! Is...your...eye...okay?"

"Well, I think so...freaking hot grease!"

Thankfully, my dad's eye was fine and his glasses were fine too.

Although, he's a little more wary around me whenever we have hotdogs...