"It's great to be young and a Yankee."

Ahh, so I took a red eye back from San Fran. A gas leak in the convention center cut the trip a little short, unfortunately, but now I'm back in NYC for at least a week. I didn't get to post this yesterday, but I did write a little something for my dad to honor how incredible he is.

Because my family is 100% nuts, my dad used to read to me the poem "Gunga Din" when I was little. (What, that's a normal bed time story for a 6-year old.) So I returned the favor, sort of.

From the Marriott in San Fran:




And his reaction, courtesy my sister in Long Beach:


"Gunga Dad"
You may talk of Father's Day,
While I'm stationed in the Bay.
As dad would say, the training's good for me.
And as his oldest daughter,
To me he walks on water,
And licks the creamsicles of them that's got it.
Now in Long Beach's sunny clime,
Where he likes to measure time,
So every 15 minutes we'll hear DING!
In the years I've grown,
The finest man I've known,
Is no other than the man we call the King.
It was Dad, Dad, Dad!
You number crunching cremating wackadoo!
Hi, No Doritos!
Watch your toes, nobody knows!
You charismatic nutjob, Tommy P.
I shant forget the nights,
When I dropped behind the fights,
Whether school or sports or work that did me in.
I'd fear the impending attack,
And the man that got my back,
Was my good old grinning, laughing friend and guard.
He said to listen well,
And to always give em hell.
And to do the right thing even what it's hard.
Not sounding like a lot,
But of all the advice I got,
I'm gratefullest to the one from my brilliant dad.
It was Dad, Dad, Dad!
He's my hero with a screw loose in his head.
He knows something about everything,
That's why he's called the King.
And for Gawd's sake, someone make him some iced tea.
He carried me away,
From the bad man (so he says),
And saved Mom when she was blown up in a tree.
He's kept us safe from harm,
Perfected my pitching arm,
And taught us the secret password, Open sesame!
He's fearless and he's strong,
Has never once been wrong,
(Just ask him, it's a truth we all know well.)
He runs his poker tables,
(Vouched by Toby Bagels),
And invented a craps system on Excel.
It was Dad, Dad, Dad!
He's the weirdo singing songs out on the deck.
Snatching up your people!
Scaring all the seagulls!
On the phone, he's taking the B-E-T-S, bets.
For thirty-two long years,
Of blood, of sweat, of tears.
He's never let me down a single day,
From bikes and training wheels,
To cooking countless meals,
"Hm this is so good," he'll always say.
So I'll meet him later on,
When my business trip is done,
Where it's always nice and sunny on Delaware.
He'll be doing magic tricks,
Explaining how bleen comes after six,
And I'll make a foamy egg cream for us to share.
It was Dad, Dad, Dad!
My carbon copy idol and best friend,
Though we've fought along the way,
Believe me when I say,
I love him more with every single day.

The Original Poem:
You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
"You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
"Hi! Slippy hitherao!
"Water, get it! Panee lao
"You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted " Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
"You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
"You put some juldee in it
"Or I'll marrow you this minute
"If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!" 'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick' on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire,"
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!" I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water green.
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
"'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen"
"'E's chawin' up the ground,
"An' 'e's kickin' all around:
"For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din! 'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink" sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone
Where it's always double drill and no canteen.
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!