Birthday gift via Christmas gift

Life is funny.  Sometimes not in a “ha ha” kind of way, but funny regardless.  This is a lesson in “what you should and shouldn't joke about”.  This is something I know nothing about.

My Dad was a player.  Literally and figuratively.  He was a fantastic drummer and vocalist and 100% rock star, through and through.  This man was an entertainer and lived the life of one for many years and, enjoyed all the perks, especially the ladies. 

Now I’m not going to creep you out with sleazy stories about my dad, but just ask my mom DeAnne, she will be more than happy to share stories that will make you uber uncomfortable.  Ask her about the marriage counselor.  That one is a doozy.

Here is what I do know, even hanging out and living with dad as an adult, when he was no longer the 22- year-old rock star, the women still flocked to him.  It was kind of mind blowing.  And unnerving.   He had the most magnetic personality of anyone I have ever met, then and now.  I am not the only person who thought this, anyone who knew him would agree.  But this can cause things to get messy on occasion, especially if you are dating and/or married to a hot-blooded Italian woman.

 

Somehow my parents made it work for over 20 years and even remained the best of friends after they divorced.  I know despite mom meeting and marrying an amazing man in Eddie, she did always love George.  And he knew that, the little shit. 

After dad died, we did make some pretty funny remarks about his ashes, like we separated the wanker ashes from the rest of him so he couldn’t chase tail in the afterlife. (Yes, those of you that don’t know me well, get used to this humor.  I’m inappropriate and it’s too late to change now.  If you are offended stop reading now, it’s just going to get worse). Then I started in on the commentary.  “Mom, you DO realize that I have a sibling out there somewhere.  I mean, the odds, seriously”.  I have been joking about it for at least 15 years.

On dad’s birthday at 7:30am the phone rang.  It was mom, and I was expecting her.  We check on each other on this day every year to try and help avoid depression, crying fits, anger, whisky, tequila, heavy medication, photo album marathons, more whisky, and gambling binges.  You know, the usual shit you do when something is upsetting.

Here was the first 10 seconds of the conversation.

Me: Hi Mom.  How are you doing?

Mom: Well, I’m ok.  Need to talk to you

(at this point I roll my eyes and wait for mom to get upset and tell me she misses dad and blah blah blah….)

Me: OK Shoot.

Mom: You know how you are always joking about how someday a brother or sister is going to come knocking on your door?

Me: Yep.

Mom: Well today is that day.

RADIO SILENCE. 

Yep, I, the constantly yapping over-talker, was speechless.  Which was good, because this is a great story.  

Mom received a text from my Aunt Janet the night before.  She was already asleep and didn’t get it until the morning.  My Aunt Janet is my dad’s sister.  She’s 80 and a pistol, so add that nugget to the details of this whacko story.   Let me back up a little…

Aunt Janet wanted to do the whole DNA thing.  You know, ancestry dot com and yadda yadda.  Me, my husband Mike, mom and my cousin Patrick did it on MyFamilyTree DNA and guess what?  Mom is my mom and Patrick is my 1^st cousin.  Shocker.  So, Aunt Janet asked her kids to get her a kit for Christmas and well, they did.  Aunt Janet though, is a busy-ass lady and was snowbirding in Phoenix for the winter so didn’t bother with the test until she realized she was going to have to pack it back to Michigan so, what the hell, in March she swabbed away and mailed it in.  5 weeks later, 23andme posted her results.  (which by the way, the Sheehan family has some jacked up heritage.  We are all scratching our heads, but I digress).  Not long after this she gets a message from someone claiming that she could be her first cousin.  Of course, Janet would certainly know her first cousin, not to mention the math really didn’t work so she explained there must be a mistake and well, sorry but no.

This is where things get interesting.  The lady in question, Laura Iaquinto wasn’t convinced, with good reason.  Now Laura has one of those family members knows the entire history of everyone (there’s always one) but, they know their way around the heritage/ancestry/DNA game and she explained that with the markers found, this woman could also be her Aunt.  So, not taking no for an answer (surprised?) she contacted Aunt Janet again. 

This time the question was not about first cousins.  This time, the question was  “Do you have any brothers?”.  To which of course the answer is yes.  Two.  George and Frank were the Sheehan boys, and sadly neither one of them are with us any longer.  They were however both in Michigan in 1966. 

The question of which brother took exactly one sentence from Laura Iaquinto: 

“My mother was a go-go dancer”

Well shit.  That’s George.

At this point is when Janet sends the text to DeAnne, including Laura’s phone number, which leads to the 7:30 am phone call to me from mom.  Mom then gave me Laura’s phone number.

I do not know why there was no hesitation whatsoever, but I just picked up the phone and dialed.  It was crazy.  Laura answered.  She was sweet.  Picture a sweet, nice, teacher version of me.  Ok, you can’t but it was worth a shot.   We walked through the whole scenario again, as well as the name of club where her mom worked (which I recognized) and the correct spelling of her last name, which then led me to facebook. 

Now, when I tell you this woman looks like my dad, I mean, give this girl some drumsticks.  I saw the picture of her with a beer in her hand and knew immediately - it was uncanny.  But of course, I really wanted to make this official.  Seeing as how 23andMe does not allow imported information but FamilyTreeDNA does, I managed to wrangle the instructions, send them to Laura and she sent me her info.  Once she signed the release the information uploaded.  I was sitting in front of my laptop in the living room when I hit refresh on my screen.  And there she was.  Right in between mom and Patrick.  Laura Iaquinto/Half Sister.   I get goosebumps every time I think about it.  I gasped and dialed the phone as she was dialing me.  I have to say, we’re now like a couple of kids at a sleepover.  “You have two dogs?  I have two dogs!”  It’s giggly and ridiculous and I love it.  

What led Laura to look for her biological father at this point in life is her story to tell, but I will say this, she didn’t know to look until recently.  If it weren’t for Aunt Janet’s Christmas present, none of this may have gone down at all so thanks to the O’Neil family for everything.

So, I have a sister, the Sheehan clan has another cousin and it’s all wonderful.  There are many, many things to be thankful for in this scenario.  But here are a few that are not so obvious.

 I am thankful that Laura is my older sister, and not my younger.  She was born in 1966. My parents married in 1968.  So, thanks for not making this more awkward than necessary, dad. 

It’s wonderful finding out that people are genuine, caring individuals.  Laura just wanted to know who her father was.  A wonderful, heartfelt quest. She seems to be a kind, caring person.  In turn she now has a pretty nutty sister and a whole tribe of cousins I’m guessing she wasn’t counting on.  I hope I don’t completely freak her out or disappoint her, as you know, I’m just a little off-kilter.  I don't think this blog will help but I'm one for full disclosure so here I am, smart ass, cursing and all.

Although it may be selfish, I am glad this reunion happened a little later.  If either of my parents were made aware of Laura in January of 1966, I may not be here at all.  I would never want to deny anyone the love of George, but in the spirit of self-preservation, I’m glad I made it.

And guess what?  George was a grandpa.  Something I never did for him.  It also makes me a real aunt.  Now, I have many wonderful nieces and nephews through Mike’s huge family and my amazing friends, but it is kind of cool to welcome these two kids into the family.  Besides that, now I can be a LEGIT CRAZY AUNT!  Look out guys, Aunt Kelly is more fun than a frog in a glass of milk.

 

Let’s not forget my mom.  Not only has she been fully supportive and wonderful, she seems as excited as I am. ‘There’s another part of George out there’ she said. Which makes me want to cry.  But I won’t, because I’m a badass, and we don’t get all soft.  She called Laura and welcomed her to the family.  All class, that lady.  So, I’ll just smile and say thank you and make an inappropriate joke about a singer, a go go dancer and a drummer walking into a bar…no, never mind.  I just can’t. 

So that is the story of the Christmas gift that led to the Birthday gift.  As usual in my life, same old, same old.  Move along people, nothing to see here.

Contact Your Dealer

So before anyone asks, I got permission from DeAnne to tell this story.  She said as long as I made it funny, I could.  I don't see how this couldn't be funny.


As most of you know, my mother is actually funnier than I am. The best part about this is, half the time she doesn’t even know it. She is truly hysterical. Unlike my Father who knew good & well that he could crack people up, DeAnne is just plain funny without any effort. Don’t get me wrong, I know she purposely does silly things on occasion, which yes, is funny, but the best ones are not intended, and this is one of them.

Every year for a dozen years now DeAnne has organized the Advertising Community Talent Show (ACTS). It’s a wonderful show; it raises money for a worthy cause. If you really want to know about it go to www.actslv.org . We are recruiting ACTS right now for this year. Various people have helped and the show is a story in itself, but this is not that story. This takes place after the show, last year.

ACTS was great last year. 80’s themed, wonderfully talented people performed and the advertising community in Southern Nevada again supported us at Green Valley Ranch. The show was about three hours and it really is exhausting. There were 13 acts, about 30 performers, just to give you an idea. It’s quite a production. DeAnne performed, with Dirk (yep, same one from the chicken story – see a pattern?) and she was awesome. After the show, there’s a lot to be done. Props, including a 6 foot high wedding cake, platform shoes, wigs, a life-size mannequin, various feather boas and a huge amount of neon spandex need to be packed. I’m backstage schlepping and well, most of the performers were out in the casino socializing.

Now a lot of us got rooms, which is good. But some of us, DeAnne included, like sleeping at home. Which may or may not be good in this case. Really, everyone is exhausted at this point, but high on performance buzz that often follows a great show. In DeAnne’s case, she was really into it. Performing as Grace Slick, she bought a wig for the number and now, two hours after the show has ended, will NOT take it off. She has developed some sort of alter ego that often comes with donning a disguise except as most of you know, DeAnne already looks like Grace Slick, so what the hell was the wig for? I couldn’t tell ya. I will say she looked great.

Looking good and feeling good are two different things, however, and D was not about to spend the night at Green Valley Ranch. The conversation went like this:

Ma, really, stay. We are all tired.  We have a room, there’s another bed.

Nope. Going home. I’m exhausted.

That was it. Off she went, keys in hand, towards valet. Again, in a normal family this would be the end of the story. But for us, not so much.

DeAnne gets to valet, wig and all, and jumps into her shiny new Hyundai Sonata for the hefty trek across town back to her house. It’s mostly freeway, the 215, but still it’s a haul. It is midnight on a Friday night in Vegas, so yes Virginia, there is a ton of traffic.

Now before I proceed, let me explain. DeAnne loves new cars. She trades in more cars than anyone I have ever known. The problem is, she’s got a few clients and friends that are associated with auto dealerships, and well, no self control. So she sells them a remote broadcast for the radio station she works for, shows up to “make sure everything is ok” and dammit if she doesn't buy a car. They see her coming you know – she’s had eight cars since 2000. Really. This happens all the time. This was one of those cars. She just bought it a couple of days before from her friend Frank who is the Big Kahuna at Henderson Hyundai.  I'm sure she bought it at a remote.

So, back to our hero - She pulls out from the valet at the casino and into traffic on Green Valley Parkway, gets in the turn lane for the freeway and hits her turn signal, makes the turn and takes the ramp in to traffic. No problemo. The turn signal clicks off……..and wait, what the hell is that?

She realizes, going 65, in the dark, in heavy traffic, on the freeway in a Grace Slick wig, that somehow her hazard lights are on.

I asked her what she had said at this point….

“Shit”.

Well traffic is really moving and she is scared to death to try and pull over. Besides, it’s just hazard lights; the switch has to be around here somewhere, right? It is at this point that DeAnne starts playing Go Fish with the mechanical features of her new 2009 Sonata. Horn? Go Fish. Cruise Control? Go Fish. Electric seat? Go Fish. Interior lights? Well, you get the picture. DeAnne told me she learned more about the inner workings of her vehicle in that 30 minute drive that she would have ever known about the car. EV-ER.

So here she is barreling down the freeway, hazards on and shit is going Inspector Gadget in the car. Lights are blinking, horns going off, seats moving – it is bad. But wait it gets worse. She finds the windshield wipers. Dear God. Now the windshield fluid is squirting and the wipers are going batshit. I mean if she couldn’t see before, now she was screwed. This goes on from Green Valley Parkway to Decatur. Now, for those of you that don’t know, that’s a decent amount of heavily travelled freeway.

In any other city, a heavily made up 4 foot eleven Italian woman in dressed in pleather and a Grace Slick wig zipping down a crowded freeway with every possible blinking, swishing part (including the gas tank cover) in perpetual motion - would attract attention. I don’t think she could get away with this in say, Ocean Springs Mississippi. But in Vegas, just another day. Not one call was made.

At this point, DeAnne is pissed. She’s nearing her exit and does not want to drive all the way down Decatur Boulevard with a possessed Hyundai (rhymes with Sunday by the way, DeAnne made sure I knew that). She exits the freeway and pulls in to the first parking lot available. This lot of course, is not lit and in the midst of her education on her new toy she did not take notes and therefore does not even know how to turn on the interior dome light. As a matter of fact, she did something so that the light now will not come on even when you open the door.

Well, time to take stock. She’s on the side of the road at Decatur and the freeway and cannot find the button for the lights and she’s not that far from home…might as well make a run for it. She puts the car in drive and off she goes. It’s almost a straight shot.

Thankfully and with more luck than skill DeAnne arrives at home and opens the garage. The gas tank door is open. The windshield wipers are still on delay and radio is on AM, but she’s home. “Thank God” she exclaims. “I’m going to turn this effen car off and go to bed.” It is at this point that DeAnne again is educated in automotive skill. She does not know that when you turn the car off, the hazard lights stay on. That’s what they are there for - a HAZARD. Such as an immobile car.

She is now sitting in a black garage. Yellow. Black. Yellow. Black. Yellow. Black.

“Shit”.

She gets back in the offending vehicle and now she’s really pissed. I mean how hard can it be? Then a flash of brilliance. The owner’s manual. In one motion the glove box is open and the manual is in hand. Hazards….hazards…..she’s mumbling to herself now. Ah –HA! Hazards. Now, she did not see the little drawing of the dashboard showing all of the little buttons and explanations. Here is what she did see:

“In the event that your hazard lights will not turn off, contact your Dealer”.

Well, ok she thought. If you say so.

While sitting in her closed alternating black and yellow garage with the owner’s manual of the vehicle on her lap, DeAnne whips out her phone and dials Frank’s personal cell number from Henderson Hyundai.

I’m not kidding.

Sometimes I wonder if there is a God, because thankfully, Frank did not answer. But of course, DeAnne left a message. At 1am.

“Frank, hi it’s me DeAnne. Hey Frank, when you get a minute, could you call me? I’m here in my garage and my hazard lights won’t turn off. I looked in the manual and it said to call you, so I’m calling. OK. OK. Bye.”

DeAnne now surrenders to the situation. She takes the keys out of the ignition and walks away from her blinking shiny new Hyundai. She leaves it, blinking, all night in the garage. Deal with it in the morning. At 1:30 am, she’s done.

Bright and early in the AM, DeAnne awakens. In those few foggy moments in between groggy and really being awake she beings to replay the movie in her head from the night before.

If all this is true, she thinks, I will have a car parked in my garage with the fucking hazard lights on.

She opens the door to the garage.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“Shit”.

Literally in five seconds she walks over to the car, opens the door, leans inside and presses the huge, HUGE, big red button in the middle of the dashboard with the red HAZARD triangle on it and shuts the car door.

“ Well,. Guess I’d better call Frank”.