Wednesday, November 03, 2010

Papa, Pot, and anti-Pathogens

Today is me Pappy's birthday.  He's 70.  Actually he's not 70, but the little bugger insists on rounding up.  As long as I can remember, he's always rounded up to the nearest five.  When he turned 61, he boasted the ripe age of 65.  And when he turned 66 (four years ago), he insisted on being 70.  That 70-year-fart-de-old can ski better than I can.  Still!  Can you believe that?  I suppose if you saw me ski, you'd believe it rather easily.

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I did the round-up thing when Spouse turned 40.  I'm eight years younger than Spouse. And when he turned 40, I figured I might as well be 40 too and started to tell everyone I was 40.  It's a great gig, really, this rounding up, because people generally say, "Wow!  You look great" instead of, "Uhm, yeah.  You look old for your age."

My dad can do lots of things really well.  Besides skiing, he can grow things.  Having grown up on a farm during the 17th century, depression, and all of the world wars, he had his share of learning the tricks of the farming trade.  His current garden has rich, luscious soil -- soil he's enriched for at least 30 years.  Everything he plants is raised, watered and loved with every organic fiber of his being.  My papa pours his heart, guts and soul into that garden. Or at least it appears as though he pours his heart, guts and soul into that garden.  Tomatoes are his specialty.  No one grows a better tasting tomato.  

For years now, I've tried to talk him to growing the marijuana.  "Come on dad.  Just grow some pot!  Your farming prowess can grow twelve by twelve bushes of the most intense stuff available.  We'd be rich!"  

The dad's answer was already the same.  "But Rabid.  It's illegal."  He's so boring some times.

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A few months ago, when the State of California set the legalize-marijuana-cogs in action via another scandalous proposition (numbered 19 in case you've been in a cave), I was all over it.  If California constitutes the cannabis, we'll move our bad-A selves to a commune in that state of dreaming and grow weed.  

Before you get any weird ideas about me, note that I do not intend to ignite, ingest, or inhale the hootch. Ever again.  (Yes, again.  That there was a type of confession.)  Nope, I won't do the dope.  I spend many hours each week trying to run faster.   I am positive that dope will make me run slower, not faster, therefore I refuse to ignite, ingest, or inhale any form of it.  I don't have a problem selling it to others though.  If I were somewhat competitive, I might even find a way to get the competition hooked on it.  

(Do I need to say I'm kidding about all this?  Good.)

Another interesting thing my dad does well, is not get cancer.  You might think this an odd skill, but after years of watching and listening, I'm going to say that his cancer-freedom is a direct result of lifestyle.  My dad (also called Mikey) has nine brothers and sisters.  He is the (70-year-old) youngest of ten children.  Somewhere around ten years ago, I made an observation:  None of his siblings have ever had cancer.  At the time, the oldest was around 80 (I think.)  To have ten adults aged 60-80 with no cancer is quite a statistic.  Don't you think?  No cancer in any of them.  All but one were alive at the time.

I inquired upon this observation.  "Dad?  How is it that none of you have had cancer?  Don't you think that's quite a thing?"  He winked (or something) and said, "I know why we don't get cancer.  It's because of the tomatoes."

My pappy and his siblings, were tomato-fed hooligans from a farm that is now Utah Valley University.  They ate more tomatoes in a year that you or I have eaten in our lifetimes combined.  Serious.  And none of them have had cancer.  Coincidence?  I don't think so.  

This morning, the Today Show had a little segment on cancer-fighting foods.  Can you guess what was on that list?  Tomatoes!*  On my dad's birthday!

Coincidence?  I don't think so.


*The complete anti-pathogen list is: broccoli, berries (especially black), TOMATOES, walnuts, garlic, and black beans.

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8 comments:

Jessica said...

Happy Birfday to yer Pappy!

(oh, and Prop 19 didn't pass, but a variety of cities agreed to tax the hell out of the medical MJ. Looks like I'll need to save my money for my THC lollipops.)

radracer said...

Happy Birthday, Mikey.

As far as the anti-pathogen list, bring-em all on with exception of walnuts, which are a worthless nut, and garlic, which is smelly.

Winder said...

Ah, we love Mikey at the Winder household.

His cancer freeness is the reason I am teaching myself to eat the tomato.

Tia said...

I met your pappy at your (40th?) birthday this past summer! Oh, I hate to say that summer has passed. Anyway, I totally concur that being is cancer free is attributed to a healthy lifestyle. Did your dad run, too? I think tomatoes combined with running is a sure cure for whatever ails you. :)

lifein360 said...

To bad you couldn't grow Doritos. Everyone knows you can't have Pot without Doritos. At least they would be legal? Just a thought.

Blackdog said...

Hmm Tomato's and Pot. I don't think that one is going to catch on.

Ski Bike Junkie said...

Doesn't your dad also have a pint of cutthroat with lunch every day? I like your dad, and I've never met him.

rabidrunner said...

Tia: Yes my dad ran. When I was in high school, he'd come home from work and immediately go out for a run. All of my dude friends wanted to be like him when they grew up.

360: Oh those blasted Doritos. And snickers bars. I had a thing for those bite-sized Snickers bars. Why was food so vibrant? I kind of miss that.

SBJ: It's true. A pint of cutthroat at lunch every day. Sometimes he's substitutes it with a St Provo Girl or Amber Ale.