I'm My Father's Child, Too

Toward the end of April, I sent my dad a text message asking when he'd be taking me out to lunch for his birthday. It's a move that, in any other family, might well have backfired. But not with my dad. He chuckled, I'm sure. Maybe ruefully shook his head. And then we figured out a day we could go out to lunch.

We're creatures of habit: we eat at Jason's Deli, and between the two of us, we probably rotate through roughly four or five of the items on the menu. If that. And then we sit and eat and talk, and it's pretty much a delight to know you're giving your dad firsthand information that your mother has not heard.

Just as it more or less makes his day when any of us call and say, "Hey, I was hoping to talk to you!" instead of asking for Mom.

I mock him for some of his habits of organization and tidiness, but let's face it: I inherited some of them. My DVDs are alphabetized. My books range from shortest to tallest. I have a tendency to rearrange the dishwasher and/or refrigerator and/or freezer when space isn't being well maximized.

Practically without fail, I arrive anywhere I need to be earlier than I need to be there. That's his fault. In a totally un-bad way.

And what I suppose I'm actually saying with all of this is that I'm glad he's my dad, and I'm glad that he taught me well.

July 4th Thoughts

If you look back through my archives, there seems a trend to my Fourth of July posts: rather than feeling free, it seems I tend to feel lonely. And let's be honest: loneliness and independence are not remotely the same thing. You can be independent and still be around people; while you can be lonely and independent, I suppose, it's not nearly so rewarding.

This year has found me once again at my parents' house in Centerville. Wandering city festivities. Listening for a couple of songs to a less-than-wonderful band (swing this year, not 60s cover--do we consider this progress or just a genre change?) and then coming back and setting off fireworks at my parents house.

Thank heaven for niece and nephews. They make everything more entertaining and interesting. And it's impossible not to think that even the lamest of fireworks you're setting off are just a little bit marvellous when you have munchkins who ooh and ahh at them.

Interestingly enough, I don't mind being a lone child this year: but maybe that's because all of us were here for the city festivities on Friday. Or maybe it's because I like that I get to experience the moments when my presence causes my parents to suddenly lose years of maturity (my mom, in particular--it's delightful!). I have also realized that I don't mind playing a family role as observer; I like to see what everyone else does, hear what everyone else talks about, smile at others' jokes. In short, I like to be the fly on the wall.

I bring books for others; my mom recommends books to me. Sometimes it's quiet, sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's just me, sometimes there are more. Always, always, I feel a quiet sense of belonging here (perhaps I just didn't recognize it before because I was being too petulant about being a single amongst marrieds).

But I don't ever feel lonely here, because here will always be home.

Just Another Family Gathering

Another family gathering has passed, with all of the standards of any summer social activity that involves my clan. Those standards would be: 1) Someone who fell asleep while we're visiting (today, my grandpa--who insisted he was awake but just breathing heavily with his eyes closed to block out the effects of the sun. (Just a note--it's overcast today.) 2) We ate baked beans. A standard for any gathering that occurs between the months of April and October, because as all of us know: baked beans go with anything. And 3) Someone got sick. (In this case, my two-and-a-half year old nephew, who is now clinging to the stuffed pig I gave to his almost-one-year-old sister, whose birthday is the reason we gathered. That, and because my aunt and uncle had flown up from Arizona for a visit.

At least it didn't involve standard 4) a fight between my older brother and me (sometimes played out subtly and sometimes involving yelling, screaming, name-calling, and physical contact if either of us gets mad enough--maybe this is a sign we're both maturing). Of course, he couldn't resist throwing in a jibe when I commented that mom has offered to pay my current roommate $50 if she can convince me to attend graduate school in Utah. He told me he'd pay me $200 to leave.

Ah, what are families for . . .