Written @ 7:38 p.m. on 2007-08-06
B. Meets My Dad
Ok, I am really, really adding an entry. I have started several times but realized that I just didn't have the focus, or the inspiration.
Many things have happened. The week before last I finally brought B. home to meet my dad in upstate New York. They were supposed to meet in florida, but at the last minute my father didn't make the trip. They almost didn't meet again, because my grandfather's ashes were put in the ground that Saturday, but we did all get to spend Sunday together. It was a very exciting trip for many reasons- I have been very homesick, and summer is a lovely time in my hometown, I felt like I should bring B. to meet my Dad in a very traditional, victorian sort of way, and I felt that B. would truly see into the Depths of my Innermost Soul by seeing where I grew up and my parents in their natural habitat.
B. does not travel. This is astonishing to me, being a capricorn goat who continually feels the pull of wanderlust. He has never been anywhere, so even upstate NY is exciting for him. HOW DOES ONE NOT TRAVEL???? I don't get it, but I like travelling alone, so it will work out.
B. saw my cute little tree-lined street, and my parents' English Tudor with the laundry shoot and the back stairway and the little door where the milkman can leave the milk. He saw my room and the backyard where I made mudpies.I relaxed, knowing that social services cannot get me there.
I showed him my school, and the art district in the city where I hung out as a teenager. We looked at the little shops, and we walked in a passage that goes underneath the highway in order to reach the museum. The kids got a kick out of that. There we saw an exhibit on 9/11. B. is very intensly patriotic, yet believes it was an inside job. I am more coolly detatched, feeling that I cannot form an opinion when no one tells the people the truth. Of all the things I am, I don't think patriotic is one of them.
We went to the city park where nearly all of my teenage mischief occurred. A LOT of teenage mischief. Whoa. A lot. We ate icecream from tastee-freeze. We were happy.
My father and mother returned at night, and my father shook B.'s hand, and said little else. It was understandable, considering the grim business of the day. We left the kids with my mom, and went out on the town with my dear childhood friend, Screamer. We have been friends since third grade, when she was very VERY loud, and funny. She is much more reserved now, but still sharp as a tack, and upon meeting we did that thing that girls do, talking over-top of one another in our own language about ten different things at once. B. was very patient. We put our hands side by side, and it was eerie...we had the same hands! Same shade of tan, same black nailpoish, and we each wore one ring with very similar designs. We also had both gotten tattoos on the backs of our necks. Perhaps we were separated at birth!!! The only difference is that I keep getting fatter, and she keeps getting skinnier! This we find hysterical, because of course, we love each other too much to care.
So, out we go, for burritos and sweet potato fries from my favorite trendy dive, a night time visit to the park, and beer and trivia at the bar until closing time. It was excellent! I really had a ball. Screamer, of course, knows everyone, and got me to drink Jamaican Red Stripe.
Sunday was family day, and we decided to go to a beautiful park with an endless view, cliffs and waterfalls, and caves to explore. My father is most at home in nature, so I thought this would be good. We had a lovely picnic, and everyone was relaxed and well behaved. B. is really easy to bring around, he fits right in. We walked the trail along the cliffs, and the girls played in the waterfall. I got to ride with my Dad over the country roads on the back of his Harley, and B., Mom, and the girls followed behind in a jeep. That was great fun, and B. got to see a bit of the country surrounding my home, too, old Dutch (wooden shoes dutch) farms nestled into low mountains, tractors and dogs tied on chains in front of houses.
The only thing is that I got stung by a bee while on the bike. This is not cool. One cannot yell and flail like one would like to. One must be still and balanced, and take the pain like a tough soldier. Which I am. And I did.
When we left, the men shook hands, and my father said,"Looking forward to seeing you around,". Which, in translation, is beautiful poetry about how much my dad loves and admires B. for taking his wayward daughter off of his hands.
So we are beautiful, and life is good. Until we returned home to the real world.