Tuesday's Truffle is...Humor!

34 years ago a family of six went on a vacation. Little did they know that this vacation would be the one that created the legend of…

Dad's Tighty-Whities

George "Bill" McNamee was always an outdoor adventurer, starting out at a young age enjoying camping, fishing, and hiking. While in the Boy Scouts, Bill honed his outdoor adventure skills, becoming proficient in dealing with just about anything or any situation presented to him in the wild. These skills would prove valuable in his later life as a husband and father. 

Bill married Mary Jane McCann, a lovely woman and very devoted wife. For all of Mary Jane’s wonderful qualities, she was not quite, shall we say, the outdoorsy type. Never fear: she had Bill as her faithful companion and instructor in all that is wild and rugged. 

(Okay, I put a little too much on that.) Anyhow, he did what he could to get her in the game. Bill and Mary Jane were blessed with four wonderful children: me, Mike, the oldest (and by far the best looking and smartest), Debbie, Patrick, and Sue. (Yeah, they were kinda okay-looking and somewhat smart, as well.)

 

Back to the story.  When we children were old enough to teethe, we were old enough to camp.  Every opportunity Bill and Mary Jane got to go camping, they did. Bill one day got a proverbial wild hair up his keister and presented Mary Jane with an idea for camping trips of mammoth proportions. They would save their money, Bill would save his vacation time and the family would take one trip every two years and be gone for 4 weeks! 

Had Bill lost his mind?  (Well, of course he had.   Come on now, four kids under the age of 18 traveling together for a whole month?)  

Once Bill was released from the psychiatric ward, he and Mary Jane began planning a trip. The first trip was to visit some friends in Idaho and Washington State, seeing sights like the Rocky Mountains, Mount Rushmore, and Yellowstone National Park. To make the trip as comfortable as possible, Bill bought a pickup truck.  That way, he could stow his little monsters in the back--you know, bounce them around for several hours at a time. (No bitterness here.)

 

The trip was wonderful, memories abound, sore asses and all. Because the trip was such a success, the next trip (in two years) was to be even more over the top: a trip into the uncharted regions of Canada. 

(Okay, they were charted.  I thought it sounded cool.  Sue me.)

 

This trip started in the camping grounds in the upper elevations of the Banff National Forest Mountains, an area traversed by deer, elk, mountain lions, and bear.  When we entered the camping grounds, a friendly Canuck offered some advice:  "If you store any food, please do so by hanging it high in a tree or in a solid steel container, like inside your car."

Well, the McNamee family had upgraded to a nice large van for this trip, thank God, but the Army footlocker the food was stored in was not small enough to remain in the van while the family slept at night. That was okay; Bill had an idea that would accommodate everyone and the food. 

Ah, at last we settled down to a fun-filled afternoon of hiking, exploring, and just plain goofing around. As the evening approached, Mary Jane began dinner preparations, pulling pots from one place, pans from another, and food from the WOODEN Army footlocker. As always, the dinner was phenomenal.  Making the meal extra special was the ambiance of the great outdoors. 

After the meal was complete, while we were doing the dishes, three men pulled up in a car to set up camp in the spot next to ours. By eavesdropping on their conversation and by their unique appearance, we all surmised that these three gentlemen were from Japan or some other Oriental country.  Bill, being the friendly sort that he was, approached the men and proceeded to offer his children to them as slaves if they so needed. (Oops, I mean he offered our assistance.) The brief conversation went without a confirmed ending, as the two parties did not speak each other’s language.

Later that evening, the McNamees sat down to an evening snack: Jiffy Pop.  (For those of you not in the know, this is popcorn that is packaged in a self-enclosed popping pan.  If you don’t know, you can Google it.)  Anyway, while we were popping the popcorn, one of the Japanese men approached our campsite to continue the greeting formalities. This process would have only taken a minute if not for the popcorn beginning to pop in this odd contraption. 

"Ching chow!" the man exclaimed.  (I made those words up, I don’t know what the hell he said.)  In utter amazement he stared at the foil rising and smelled the aroma of buttered popcorn.  Being the good hostess, Mary Jane opened the bag and offered him a handful. Well, let me be the one to tell ya, he loved it, so much so he felt compelled to invite his two other campmates. Together everyone snacked away on popcorn and shared stories of past adventures…Whoa, wait a minute, they may have shared their story and we may have shared ours, but we had no clue what they were saying and they had no idea what we were saying.  All the same, big fun was had by all.

As the evening wore on, the friendly Japanese fellas went back to their camp and we readied ours for the night. Bill had come up with the plan for the Army footlocker that stored our food. Because it was too big to put in the van and still have room to sleep, and it was too heavy to hoist into a tree, Bill decided it was best to wedge it under the van. So he pushed and shoved and heaved and ho'd until finally there was no way it was coming out. It was in there so good most likely it would take a tire jack to get it out.

Well, now we could rest in peace that the family and our food was safe and sound. So, like a neatly packed can of sardines, we all settled in for our evening slumber. 

At around o-dark thirty in the morning, the oldest and best-looking child (Mike) awoke to the sound of scratching. As he looked up to investigate, he noticed the youngest child, Sue, moving about.  

"Hey Sue," Mike said, "quit scratching the van."

 

Before I go on, please allow me to elaborate on young sister Sue. Sue began camping at a very young age, maybe too young, although she was probably the toughest of all when it came to camping. Let me tell you, she could sleep anywhere, any time.  One time Mary Jane thought she had wandered off in the middle of the night. She didn’t.  Nope, she just slid out of the pop-up camper we were in, just dangling there with half her body outside the camper.  Didn’t bother her a bit. So when something odd was happening on our trips and Sue was anywhere near the weirdness, it was taken with a grain of salt.  This time, though, it was annoying; she was waking everyone up.  Bill sat up and said, "Stop that, Sue!"

 

Mary Jane gave her one of her famous lines: “Quit it, Sue, or I’ll crack ya!”  (It’s a funny thing mom does.  She acts like she is going to slap the top of your head, but instead smacks her own behind--for the sound effect--and never actually touches you.  Only the McNamee clan would understand that one. Oh, yeah, that and her favorite word, “blida.”  Who in the world comes up with words like that?  "Blida" is not supposed to be a made up word according to her; it's Polish for something with four letters.  But we never looked it up.) 

Anyway, Bill realized that the noise was not Sue; he climbed over top of many family members trying to take a look outside. 

All at once he exclaimed, "Holy shit, it’s a bear!"

 

All-righty then, this changed everything.  Did the old man just say BEAR?

 

Bill quickly turned to the highly intelligent oldest son, Mike, and said, "Grab the keys to the van, start it up, honk the horn and flash the lights.  We have to get this thing out of here!"

 

So Mike did just that.  All the while Bill was scratching his chin, trying to figure out how to get the footlocker into the van. The bear was pawing and clawing at it with really no regard to the noise going on. 

With a loud crack, the bear removed half of the front of the locker, taking a lock and two hasps with it. The bear then nosed into the food and pulled out a nice fresh loaf of bread.

"Fine, enjoy the bread!" Bill said.  "Now just move on away!"

 

As the bear backed off, I saw what I still claim as the most heroic, but also embarrassing, moment I have ever seen. My dad, Mr. George William McNamee, leaped out of the van, in nothing but his Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities, grabbed the footlocker with the strength of ten men, and, quick as you can imagine, threw it into the van. All the while a 500-plus pound bear, with a loaf of bread in its mouth, stared on in amazement. 

Maybe the bear was laughing so hard at the sight of a man in nothing but his under-britches doing what he was doing, that it just couldn’t bring itself to do anything else but watch.

Now that everyone was safe and sound in the van, we all watched as the bear turned away—only now we saw the two bear cubs she had brought along with her.  They ambled from campsite to campsite, scaring the bejesus out of everyone else there. It wasn’t until the bears approached the friendly Japanese chaps, though, that a bit of concern came over us. Because of the racket we had made, one of the gentlemen had left his tent to investigate.  All at once the bears came around the corner and he stood face to face with a very hungry family of bears. 

I will tell you now, when that little fella saw those bears he went from standing on the ground to the top of his car so fast he didn’t even bend his knees to jump. He began ranting and raving to his friends, who were still in the tent, something in Japanese.  You know, "Ching chow chang," only panicky-like. Well, in all the commotion, I can’t say what all happened.  I do know that Mother Bear did go into their tent and tear it to pieces. Then the bears made their way down the road to terrorize the rest of the camp. 

The next morning the campground was abuzz about the whole incident, some folks laughing about dad in his underwear, others crying because of dad in his underwear. The experience was one of many we shared on those long trips. 

                                                                 ***

I have to say, my mother and father really knew what was best for their children. Looking back, we may have taken this for granted, but I most certainly would have not have survived this long without the life skills they provided.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.  We love you.


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The author is in the middle of the Himalayas, on a year long adventure that includes his third expedition to the top of Mount Everest. This time he will be going alone and traversing the North Face. He introduced the Dali Lama to cheeseburgers and fries and a business partnership is in the works to open Dahliland theme park in Tibet. 

...Had ya going, didn't he?  Highly intelligent oldest son Mike, the author of this piece, is originally from St. Louis, Mo.  He is the father of two grown boys, and has one grand-daughter.  He currently lives in California soaking up the great weather and letting us know just how much nicer it is out there than in the Midwest! 

 
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