This is not a post about Kenny. It’s a post about Alice, and her restaurant.
My dad was not a funny man.
I take that back. He was not funny when he tried to be. He was not the guy at the party who would hold court, telling stories and jokes, everyone around him saying, “That Dave Day is one funny guy.”
It may sound strange, considering how kind he was, but he was funniest when he was insulting someone.
“That guy is about as useful as a second appendix.”
“Patrick, I like your friends, but that kid could ____ up a free meal.”
When I was a child, every word that came out of his mouth was pure gold, genius.
It’s not that my dad didn’t like music, but he was not musical. He did not play an instrument and singing next to him in church was not exactly a gift to the ears.
My dad sang the song like this:
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.
400 children and a crop in the fields.
Funniest damn thing I ever heard.