Stories of Old
My dad used to be a great storyteller, especially the stories of when he was in his youth. It didn’t matter if they were exaggerated and they almost always were. Here are a few of those stories
Learning about Women
Growing up in Aigaleo, Athens my dad was a street kid. He’d often be playing in all sorts of places. He told me that he used to play in the ruins of the Acropolis. He was well known throughout his community and would make friends with everyone. He would often visit the local brothel and make friends with the women who would look after him from time to time. One time whilst talking to the courtesan a John paid a visit to the brothel. As there was no one else around to look after little Andreas he got put in the wardrobe. There he found a primary source to aid him in his sexual education through the cracks of the shutters.
Remeeting his Mother as a Young Adult
I don’t know much about my grandma on my father’s side. My dad’s parents got divorced when he was young. In fact, she left them at an early age around 6 and shortly after they moved from Thessaloniki to Athens.
They remet years later when he was 17 or 18. His mother apologised to him and pleaded to be back together.
“What type of mother leaves their son to grow up by themselves while their father works? You are not my mother…” And he got up and walked away never to see her again.
Forever a Ladies Man
Before marrying my mum he talked about two girls although not often so my memory is a bit hazy. There was Sandy or Poppy, the blonde bombshell who he was engaged with but then decided to call it off for whatever reason which proceeded in the classic crying and screaming at the doorstep trope.
Then there was Mitsy, the daughter of a millionaire who lived in a mansion (or a very nice house). They dated for a while and of course, Mitsy was smitten but all to no avail as something happened that morally he could not accept and so he left Mitsy, and the nice house and car that came with it.
Getting Involved in the Mafia
Whilst drifting around Europe for seven years he got a job working on a ship. When he was working on the ship he was told he could make a lot of money if he transported cigarettes. Now, these cigarettes weren’t exactly legal and these people he was working for weren’t exactly the savoury type.
This is where the story gets a bit hazy so I’ll put the next bit in italics.
According to my brother, the police had cottoned on and were tailing the boat. The boat itself wasn’t exactly registered to where it should be. It had been painted and rebadged many times. To get the police off their tail one crewman threw a molotov cocktail at the boat and that was enough to get away.
Once they had come into port he was told that he’d done a good job and that there was a far more lucrative job he could do and that was to transport weapons. He politely refused and went on his way.
Getting Out of the Military
My dad spent three years in the army and was quite good at what he did. He became a commando learning how to jump out of aeroplanes and ski whilst shooting (but apparently he wasn’t very good at that). Unfortunately, though, Greece at the time wasn’t exactly a safe place to be. The country was run by the military junta and a lot of people were opposed including one of his peers.
This gentleman decided to protest during a training exercise. The drill sergeants weren’t having any of it and shot and killed the man then and there. So, my dad decided to leave but he sure couldn’t protest. The only way out was to act insane. Helps when you’re a little bit mad yourself.
One day he decided to just not talk. He went weeks and months without talking. His friends said it may have been because of the guy that got shot and that he was having post-traumatic stress disorder. He had everyone convinced, from his peers to his superiors and to even his own father. They had brought his father in to see him by his bedside.
“Son! What have they done to you? Why can’t you speak? What happened?” my grandpa wept.
Another day, he was in the bathroom taking a pee and he decided to test out his voice just in case he had lost it.
“One… One, two…. One, two, three…”
There was someone in the bathroom. Here my dad had spent months not talking. Could this all be thrown away by this person in the bathroom? If he told the superiors he’d be thrown in prison, or worse.
They looked at each other’s eyes. “One… One, two…. One, two, three…”
The tension was palpable. The man averted his eyes and scurried off thinking that he truly must be crazy. Phew! The tension dissipated and soon after he was released from the army.
He approached his father days later who was still morning about how his son was mute.
“Yeah, Dad what’s wrong? You thought I’d gone insane? Ludicrous! What stories have you been reading?”
Like these stories? Want to know more about my dad? Check out Part 1 and Part 2 of the series. Tell me what you think? Did your parents say outlandish tales? Does it change what you think of them now? The way my father used to speak of his youth made me think that he was a bit of a lad, who stuck by his morals and lived in the moment. What about your parents? Let me know in the comments, on Facebook or on my Instagram.