Saturday, July 18, 2009
The only thing better than watching rasslin' is rasslin' your kids.
Having been blessed to grow up Southren (and that is how we like to say it in the DEEP South), Georgia Championship Wrestling was a Saturday night staple. It was a morality show. The same kind of symbolism as Moby Dick. And the rasslers were about the same size.
Years later, a character emerged on WWF. His character was "officially" Bastion Booger. I only saw him once. I thought his name was Booger Bastion.
Booger's program was to be as disgusting as possible. He was nasty. Fat. The classic bad guy. Sweaty. Snotty. Boogery.
He had two signature moves. The body slam with his superb gut leading the way. And if he really disliked his oppenent, he might give him a facewash with his flatulent backside.
Booger was on the circuit for 1993-1994. My older kids were 6, 9, 10 and 12. Key rasslin' with dad ages. Rasslin' with pops was a big deal. It gave us time for lots of tickling, hugging, playing, and eventually of course, them winning. Dad never wins in rasslin'.
My signature move became the Booger bodyslam. It quickly became the kids' as well. I have been jumped on so many times from so many angles it is a quandry as to why my
innards are still intact.
So here we are in 2009. Spent the day with Georgia, including some time in in the hotel room. Where the bed becomes a trampoline, a gym mat, and a rasslin' ring.
I got bodyslammed for a couple of hours today. My innards are sore, but my heart is full. Two hours of laughing, hugging, kissing, tickling, pillow fighting and her happier than a bag full of monkeys.
And she is king of the hill. I never had a chance.
Booger, for five kids and one dad, you have become a fixture in our lives.
They all have an 8 x 10 of you. And I'm working on the gut.