My dad had never been in a gambling hall before and some folks on the ride gave him on a rundown on how it works. He stuck a nickel in a slot and $5 worth came toppling out. He collected his winnings, purchased two McDonald’s cheeseburgers, “one for now and the other for later,” and promptly returned to the bus as if federal agents were on to him. The “I’m new here” fear left my dad early, but my mom is still this like this despite landing here in 1976. She still clutches her purse and expects to be deported from her neighborhood Vons.
Swati writes beautifully. She shared her blog on The Good Place a little while back and I added her to my feed reader immediately because her messages on TGP really punch above the average, bring life like. But only now am I taking the time to read her longer writing, and man, it’s good.
My life is full of my father’s stories.
ah, what that would be. My father has stories to tell, but he rarely tells them, and they have to be drawn out of him. It’s a strange thing to wish for, a father in the habit of holding forth, but I do. But perhaps if he did, if he always had, I’d be writing now about how I wish he didn’t. It used to be that a wish like this would annoy me, I’d be frustrated at the mismatch between what is wanted and what is, but feeling like that is so deadeningly passive. More and more now, I see that these feelings point the way, and at last I have begun to listen to them.
I am closer to my father now than I ever have been, every time I see him we find more to talk about, and with that see more clearly how much is understood between us. We both surrendered everything we might have had by never listening to that feeling that was trying to tell us that what was happening was wrong.
Ten days ago I started a group chat, added dad, ma, and Jamie. On the face of it it was a daft idea. Mum and dad don’t talk. Until I sent it to her a couple months back mum didn’t even have dad’s number, hasn’t had it for a decade or more. No need, nobody talks.
And now a groupchat. And now we’re talking. And Jamie decided to rope ma and da into he and I’s daily push-up challenge, so now we’re all chiming in with our addition to the tally each day. And, what? Is that really all it took? Could we have had this twenty years ago? Could that total implosion of the world of a child have been something else? Anything else.
But that’s past and this is now. No on else was going to do it. But no other version of me would have done it either, so it isn’t anyone’s fault.
If not you me, then who?
