I went to see Uncle Bonsai last week. For those newbies to Seattle, and for those who have never been part of the music scene here back in the 80s, Uncle Bonsai is a singer/songwriter trio that writes hilarious songs, such as “Cheerleaders on Drugs” and an entire suite dedicated to the life of poor, hapless Doug.
Trust me, you have to see or hear it to believe it. OK, take a moment to hear and see it. I’ll wait.
One of the songs they do is an apology for all the songs they’ve written in the past.
As I listened to the song, I thought long and hard about apologies. Yes, over the years I’ve apologized for many things, usually for unintentional hurt I’ve delivered with a knock out punch of words, which are always my weapon of choice.
In my younger days, I used them to wound, often with lethality. These days, I am softer in my choice of words, as I’ve learned the secrets of their super powers.
I readily confess that many of these past apologies have been hollow; born out of a desire to make peace as quickly as possible after saying something that while true, inflicted unnecessary levels of harm.
But still, I think it’s important to apologize for some things now that I’m getting older, so here it goes.
To Mrs. Hacker, my high school journalism teacher. I apologize that my initial RobZerrvations seemed a bit weak to you and that I was driven to plagiarize obscure works of other humorists from library books. And yes, I held my breath when the Seattle Post Intelligencer posted that one on shaving. I thought I would go to jail.
To my brothers, I apologize for not having a spine earlier, so that you never tried to manipulate me in the years before we stopped talking. I also apologize that I haven’t spoken to you all these years since, but that sex with an alien thing and all the right-winger nonsense freaks me out. I still think we had different parents.
To my ex (first), I apologize for wanting to see your breasts, even though you had mono. I deserved that three months in bed recuperating, unable to walk. If only I had known that I would see a lot of other breasts over my lifetime, I may not have snuck you out of the house that day to play “you remove your top, I’ll remove mine.”
I apologize to Jasper, my dog, for making him endure 84 hours in a Windstar so that I could run away from home and join the circus, that circus being my life in Florida, you know, the one with Horse Face. I know you hated car rides Jasper, but you did get to see Mt. Rushmore, albeit from the floor of the mini van. Oh, an additional apology to Horse Face, for liking the nickname my friends gave her a little too much.
I apologize to my daughter for those years as a Seafair Pirate when her birthday often took a back seat to a parade. I wished I would have found out earlier how much I hated parades. I would have ruined fewer birthdays for you. Still, it wasn’t my fault that your birthday fell in the middle of Seafair. If I would have already been a pirate when you were conceived, I would have chosen the timing of your conception better.
I must apologize to the people who now live in the home I grew up in. I really do know where all the bodies are buried and if you find yourself overrun with ghosts of hamsters, kittens, cats, turtles and a Guinea Pig, you have me to blame. I’d be happy to point out where their remains are buried. The bird in the saltine cracker can is particularly easy to find, if you have a metal detector.
I also apologize to all the women whose hearts I broke along the way. I really didn’t love myself back then and was incapable of understanding the gravity of being charming to the point where you may have fallen for me. In most cases, I did enjoy our time together and have fond memories of much of it. Still, there are other times I would just rather forget (see Horse Face above).
O.K, so I guess that was only a half apology.
I apologize to my step-whatevers for stealing your mother away. She was a good catch and I couldn’t really her slip by. My apology isn’t so much for marrying your mom, but for giving you the impression that I am some kind of dick because of it. I guess you just don’t get me, or haven’t taken the time to see that I make your mom really, really happy.
I apologize to the pirates of the world, the ones I meet on a regular basis but don’t necessarily spend much time with. It’s not that I’m judging you. I just have really high, and some would say unrealistic, expectations about how you should be; if you dress like a pirate but aren’t really one at your core. I’m sure you’re a nice person, even if you’re not really a pirate. I just don’t have a lot of time for you these days, and as such, have to pick and choose.
I must apologize to Bernie for puking in the back of his brand new car the night I learned to drink wine. Of course, I have to apologize to Faith for hooking her nose with the anchor on my chain and to the housekeeping staff in the Caymans who had to clean up all the blood on the carpet.
I apologize to the Seafair Pirates for… nah, forget that one. The mutiny was well worth it. I should have taken more of you with me and really gutted you, you swine.
Oh, I need to apologize to Bob Core for hitting him over the head with the Tonka Toy and being more concerned about the bent truck than my bent friend. But it was a really great truck and you did have a pretty hard head.
I also need to apologize to Lori Burton, the Hermiston Watermelon, for that horrible bruise I caused trying to feel you up. Anatomy wasn’t really my strong point when I was 17 and I didn’t know how all the, uh, pieces of the puzzle in the lower 48 fit together. I hope it’s healed by now.
Well, that’s it for the apologies. If I didn’t apologize to you, it may be because I didn’t know I wronged you, forgot I wronged you, or simply don’t give a rat’s ass how it all played out. I will let you decided which is which.
Quite frankly, I’m pretty wiped out after all this apologizing. Sorry.
In the Emerald City, sorry I said I was sorry just now,
- Robb