And I'd forgotten it was Father's Day, because of yesterday's all-day workshop and the recent trip to Skokie. It's easy for me to get confused, too, because his birthday is so close.

And I missed my aunt's and my cousin's birthdays this month; it's been a hectic June.

Dad had sounded so stressed when he first called that I imagined something had happened to my grandmother, and was relieved to find out that this wasn't the case.

Well. I'll take him out to lunch a bit later in the month, and all will be better. But I hope my brother and half-sister were a bit more attentive than their flakey sister is.

No matter: I'm not going to get an A+ in every subject. As a matter of fact, my current area of concentration with respect to my parents is just being polite (you know: not snapping, not being irritable; really listening to them). Matter of fact, I'm working on that with everyone.

Dad? Sorry, man. I'm a work in progress.

It's circa 1979, and my dad and I are about to embark on a road trip. My father lives on the East Coast, so he flew out and borrowed one of his parents' cars. We've just spent half an hour listening to cautions from his parents, who forbid him to take it to Mexico, and emphasize over and over that he must be careful with the car.

As we pull away from their house in Whittier I ask why grandma and grandpa were so concerned.

"They think I'm 17 years old," he tells me.

"Why?" I ask, rhetorically. (In fact, I'm 17 at this point in time).

"Because I was until I was 42," he responds.

"So you're grown up now?"

"Yes. I'm grown up now."

I'll be 43 this summer, so it could just be that I'm lagging a bit behind the old man, developmentally speaking.

Posted by: Attila at 11:21 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 328 words, total size 2 kb.