Recently, on a Sunday, a group of proud men gathered at my girlfriend’s house in Capitol Heights, Maryland. We were served tea and entertained by our daughters, nieces and granddaughters. The activities were a secret – a deep dark secret. In fact, the planners were provided a license to kill: “If I tell you, I would have to kill you!” (A quote from Justice Martin).
We were instructed to wear white polo shirts, khaki shorts and sandals. {Again this was a secret.) The ladies introduced themselves to us as we mingled, networking and sharing at least two things about ourselves. That was followed by a dance mimicry during which Dad had to imitate the creature expressed by his offspring. Mine was “Candy Rain, by Soul For Real?” (Embarrassingly to be found on Facebook).
They then served a feast for the kids, followed by skits; sage wisdom from a round table of diverse life experience and collectively at least a century of parental survivorship.
Photos and the piece de resistance, or the piece I could have resisted…
We were asked to go outside, remove a sandal and place our naked foot into a wading pool filled with ice to “mine for diamonds”. The diamonds were half marbles mixed in with the “real” ice. That explains the shorts and sandals! The diamond mining was a trick to handicap us for the next surprise – an ankle-holding relay race. Feminine wiles once again win!
But wait, fortunately, frozen feet was not enough: We beat them 46-37.
