This is my view when my dad’s cancer diagnosis is confirmed. My body is rigid, pressed up against a frosty window, unable to move or else I’ll lose the phone signal.
I don’t have much to say about it yet, but I can tell you he is hopeful, and he is angry.
“I have things to do,” he says. “I don’t have time for this crap.”
Long after the call ends, I keep my cheek against the window. It is cold, and it gives me something to feel other than scared. The drizzle is steady, and I hear the groan of snow as it is pelted with raindrops.
I should get back to writing, but first I need to listen to the snow’s complaints for a while.
My dad came to visit me recently, and I was skeptical about how it would go.
See, I didn’t always get along with my family, thanks to my snappy temper and poor decision-making skills. Though our relationship drastically improved with time and I’m a happy, healthy, well-adjusted adult now, I’m still wary out of habit.
Thankfully, the whole visit with daddy-o was fantastic from start to finish. Maybe our best visit of all time. Maybe too good.
We attended my dad’s military reunion in San Diego, and we stayed at a super weird Holiday Inn. We hung out with Steve, who was the best man in my parents’ wedding. Steve also briefly dated my aunt Hedda, long before she moved from her native Germany to North Carolina and achieved the weirdest accent ever. (Like Southern-fried schnitzel, y’all.)
My dad hadn’t seen Steve in 50 years. They swapped stories about heart attacks.
Excessively large military boats aren’t exactly my bag, so I found other ways to keep myself amused.
And then I made my dad pose for photos around the ship.
Including the jail. This is for The Very Bad Thanksgiving in 1997, Dad!
Every evening we had dinner at restaurants by the water, like the San Diego Yacht Club and the random place pictured below. And every night I ate pasta, boiled broccoli and salt, because that’s what vegans eat in San Diego. (Unless you go to Sipz or Stephanie’s, but my dad’s friends weren’t interested in those places.) Luckily I love salt.
My dad also wanted to go to the zoo, because he remembers seeing a lady from the San Diego Zoo on Johnny Carson.
I know most, if not all, vegans are anti-zoo. But I’m not one of those people. I used to be a volunteer educator at the Cincinnati Zoo, and I’ve seen firsthand how zoos can help animal populations and contribute to conservation efforts around the globe. Plus, I think zoos play an extremely important role in educating people who might not otherwise care about animals.
That’s not to say I’m 100 percent on board. There are still far too many abhorrent places out there that simply cram creatures into boxes without any concern for their welfare.
My dad ended up becoming completely obsessed with Steve Poltz and is now anxiously waiting for him to come through Dayton, Ohio — even though I’ve made it clear to Dad that he is NOT allowed to go to a bar in downtown Dayton by himself. He’s grounded. So now he wants to drag my sister Monica into this mess and force her to go to Steve Poltz concerts, which sounds like the very worst idea of all. And Steve Poltz isn’t even playing Dayton, Ohio, so it’s a pointless discussion anyway. I’ll fly home and take them to the Ice Capades instead.
Overall, I think my dad’s visit went a little too well … because he’s coming back for two weeks in January.
