During a conversation on Sunday, my uncle mentioned he enjoyed reading my posts. My response to him was, "It's a forum or medium for anyone with something to say. If you can bullshit, you can blog." That made me realize my father would have been the world's greatest blogger. He was the King of Bullshit.
Dad took bullshitting to a new level. To him, it was artform. He was the Michelangelo of gab. Anyone who had ever spent time with him or speaking on the phone, knows it was never an abbreviated task. He took his time, savored his words and relished in the laughter of his jokes. He was often jealous of my ability to speak Spanish because it means I can bullshit in two languages.
His name was Kevin Barnes, but everyone called him "KB." He needn't waste time with pleasantries and proper names when conversation was to be had. He wanted to delve into the matter of the day, whether it be what he had for breakfast or his latest money-making scheme. The phone calls waited to begin at 8am every morning in order to be polite to his audience. He may have been up earlier but would allow them to sleep in. He had several "regulars" with whom he spoke daily. Mike, Brett, Pete and Ellen were the muses for his creations. Other friends and family members sprinkled sporadically throughout generally rounded out the week. He wore a headset while talking otherwise it took up too much time to accomplish anything else. I have many memories of him in pajamas with the phone attached to his hip, headset on and making breakfast for my brother and I.
I wish we could've put some of his stories into written form. His delusions of grandeur could capture any audience. My friends always remind me about his most infamous stories like where he claimed to be a hashish tester for the Israeli Mossad. This makes absolutely no sense but he made you believe it with his conviction. Whether fact, fiction, political or satire, dad would have enthralled his readers. He would've been an amazing blogger with the ability to format anything into an entertaining piece. KB could've hunted and pecked the keyboard to spin literary gold.
I have tears streaming from my face as I write this, blurred texts from the welling in my eyes. I would give anything to have one more inane conversation about what he plans to have for lunch, his newest hair-brained attempt at a fast buck or to hear that knee-slapping laugh. But instead, I will sit sobbing in front of my computer screen knowing he is in Heaven talking the angel's ears off.
It is with great pride and pain in my heart that I award my father's theoretical blog posthumously with a Pulitzer for what would have been masterful bullshit.
I'm glad this is the first one of your entries that I read. Remembering your father is something I do often, usually referencing the hashish testing while in the Mossad. Solid gold, I miss him and his stories dearly. Between the bullshit and that Newport induced laugh, he will always have a place in my heart. Here's to you Pa Barnes.
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