![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Looking back on the Ides of March!
Mar. 16th, 2011 12:38 amBeing an Italian-American, the Ides of March was celebrated in our household with a gusto that would proudly honor the stern vigil of Mars - god of war, star of countless video games and perhaps most popularly known for a brief stint as one of Donald Trump’s Celebrity Apprentices.
Since tradition demanded a military parade, I was often forced by my parents to pull my Granddad up and down East 4th Street in my red wagon. My parents in turn would follow behind, with dad often carrying a ‘boom box’ that blasted Holst’s The Mars Overture and The Imperial March from The Empire Strikes Back soundtrack. Granddad wore his World War Two Army Air Force uniform, (the very same one in fact that he was dishonorably discharged in) and in this spirit the rest of the family would join along. Mom would dress up as Boudica – spear and all. Dad would wear a British Colonial uniform – pith helmet and all. I wore my Stormtrooper mask from Halloween – toy blaster and all.
Often Granddad would shout random obscenities at passing strangers as I pulled him up to the park across the street, the one with the big rocket ship with a built in slide and the three stone turtles. My Granddad, through the haze of the years, was somewhere between Santa Clause and Don Rickles with Tourette’s Syndrome. Cursing intermittently at nun, neighborhood pusher, commuter and dog alike, it was only Mom’s formidable skill with the Boudica Spear that kept us alive.
Later, usually after having just barely escaped the police or a wrathful mob of baseball bat wielding locals, we would make our way back to our humble little apartment until, as my folks would put it - ‘…the Heat cooled down.’ There the celebrations continued and Glorious Mars was treated to endless hours of historic board games, where he watched from Olympus the unfolding of The First Italian Campaign, The Battle of the Somme and various naval battles of The Crimean War. There the War God’s mighty thirst for bloodshed was slacked by the roll of six sided dice and the marshalling of little cardboard counters across the kitchen table. Meanwhile, Granddad, who quite refused to leave his red wagon chariot, would pass out in front of the TV.
Sadly, since Granddad’s passing, we no longer celebrate the Ides of March. Without him to pull around and openly mock our neighbors, it had lost some of its pizzazz. My parents eventually tried out a different version of the festivities of that once revered day… but unfortunately they were unable to find anyone else at their respective workplace’s willing to stab their boss. Not even ‘symbolically.’ However they did at least manage to convince their employer’s that the Ides of March was indeed a holy day, and lest the terrible fury of the War God fall down upon them, they shall indeed be allowed to stay home that day with full pay.
Which was cool by me… because they let me stay home from school. I was in a Montessori back then which meant for the money my folks were dishing out, it didn’t really matter what days were ‘sacred’ so long as the check cleared at the beginning of the school year.
Of course years later, I would attempt the same stunt at the Cube Farm. When they refused this request, I showed up for work dressed as a Roman Centurion and since then there were no problems with me taking off the Ides.
Since being unemployed, I’ve done my best to keep the tradition going… blasting the Mars Overture from the speakers and shouting curses at passing strangers… but it still isn’t the same. It’s like Christmas after you learn that there is no Santa Jesus, sure you celebrate, but the sparks just aren’t the same as when you were a kid.
Since tradition demanded a military parade, I was often forced by my parents to pull my Granddad up and down East 4th Street in my red wagon. My parents in turn would follow behind, with dad often carrying a ‘boom box’ that blasted Holst’s The Mars Overture and The Imperial March from The Empire Strikes Back soundtrack. Granddad wore his World War Two Army Air Force uniform, (the very same one in fact that he was dishonorably discharged in) and in this spirit the rest of the family would join along. Mom would dress up as Boudica – spear and all. Dad would wear a British Colonial uniform – pith helmet and all. I wore my Stormtrooper mask from Halloween – toy blaster and all.
Often Granddad would shout random obscenities at passing strangers as I pulled him up to the park across the street, the one with the big rocket ship with a built in slide and the three stone turtles. My Granddad, through the haze of the years, was somewhere between Santa Clause and Don Rickles with Tourette’s Syndrome. Cursing intermittently at nun, neighborhood pusher, commuter and dog alike, it was only Mom’s formidable skill with the Boudica Spear that kept us alive.
Later, usually after having just barely escaped the police or a wrathful mob of baseball bat wielding locals, we would make our way back to our humble little apartment until, as my folks would put it - ‘…the Heat cooled down.’ There the celebrations continued and Glorious Mars was treated to endless hours of historic board games, where he watched from Olympus the unfolding of The First Italian Campaign, The Battle of the Somme and various naval battles of The Crimean War. There the War God’s mighty thirst for bloodshed was slacked by the roll of six sided dice and the marshalling of little cardboard counters across the kitchen table. Meanwhile, Granddad, who quite refused to leave his red wagon chariot, would pass out in front of the TV.
Sadly, since Granddad’s passing, we no longer celebrate the Ides of March. Without him to pull around and openly mock our neighbors, it had lost some of its pizzazz. My parents eventually tried out a different version of the festivities of that once revered day… but unfortunately they were unable to find anyone else at their respective workplace’s willing to stab their boss. Not even ‘symbolically.’ However they did at least manage to convince their employer’s that the Ides of March was indeed a holy day, and lest the terrible fury of the War God fall down upon them, they shall indeed be allowed to stay home that day with full pay.
Which was cool by me… because they let me stay home from school. I was in a Montessori back then which meant for the money my folks were dishing out, it didn’t really matter what days were ‘sacred’ so long as the check cleared at the beginning of the school year.
Of course years later, I would attempt the same stunt at the Cube Farm. When they refused this request, I showed up for work dressed as a Roman Centurion and since then there were no problems with me taking off the Ides.
Since being unemployed, I’ve done my best to keep the tradition going… blasting the Mars Overture from the speakers and shouting curses at passing strangers… but it still isn’t the same. It’s like Christmas after you learn that there is no Santa Jesus, sure you celebrate, but the sparks just aren’t the same as when you were a kid.