Dad's month-long stay always seems like this massive amount of time looming in the distance when we're preparing for his arrival. We've all lived on our own for so long that a month with a parent in the house now seems an alien concept. The time always passes much faster than we anticipate, though, and we're now entering dad's last week here.
Tonight he made a large dinner, but retired to his room with a plate of pasta and garlic bread. He can't miss his favorite show while he's here, "'cause it comes on for a full hour- [he doesn't] get that at home!" We listened to him roar with laughter from behind his closed door as he watched "Two and a Half Men" from 7:00- 8:00 pm.
When he eventually emerged from his room, he was pleased to see that the dishes were done and hobbled into the living room to check on the score of the Celtics game. Watching sports reminded him that he hadn't yet placed his bets on this week's golf tournaments and he told me to fetch the laptop and look up who would be playing. Unfortunately for dad, I was in no mood to search the Internet for golf odds and player line ups. I'd been frantically searching through boxes of remnants from my upended apartment looking for my missing USB drives.
Dad doesn't quite understand how the Internet works- he thinks that you can type in "PGA" and find exactly what he wants instantly. Also, his eyesight is poor so as he strains his eyes trying to see what I'm looking at he asks for constant updates on what I've found. Today was my first day back in the office after an extended weekend, so I was already a little moody, and this mood just grew worse as I tried to find what he was looking for.
"See! You got what I wanted and it wasn't that hard," he said after we bounced around between golf websites for half an hour and as I continued to search every drawer for my missing drive.
As he was going to bed I was going through boxes in his room, testing every random drive hoping to find the files I am missing. As I left his room, frustrated beyond belief and heading out for my fifth cigarette on the porch, he said softly, "I really hope you find it, baby doll," and my mood momentarily softened as I kissed him on the forehead before closing the door.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
"Ain't that somethin'?"
Dinner with Tracy is something my dad likes to fit in at least once during his visits. She nannied for my sister and I while we were young, and catching up with her always provides dad with yet another chance for deep belly laughter and reminiscing. He spends the evening re-telling stories of the old days, and we all hang on every word.
On Tuesday night Tracy and Steve had Danielle, dad and I over for a ham dinner, and we spent hours chatting around the dining room table. We feasted on each others' stories and positive energies as we enjoyed second and third helpings of a delicious meal (there's no dieting with Donald in town). Somehow sexuality made its way into the conversation. From his prominent seat at the head of the table Donald said, "Well my grandfather always told me you can never have any love for a woman that loves other women." After a few uncomfortable moments of silence and awkward glances across the table, dad continued, "But my daughter showed me different, 'cuz I have to love her... Ain't that somethin'?"
It really was "somethin'" to hear my dad declare a reserved acceptance of homosexuality. (Short lived though it was, since he told me this afternoon that I need to "find [myself] a man and straighten up.") I can't count the number of disparaging remarks I grew up hearing my dad spew about "faggots", "sissies" and "dykes". I have guardedly accepted his homophobia as something so deeply ingrained in his 70-year-old island consciousness that, at this point, it is too late to expect much to change.
I've come out at least a dozen times to my dad over the last five years. Three years ago, Donald was at the first "Swizzle In, Swagger Out" birthday party at Vineland. He enjoyed the afternoon of BBQ and dominoes without reserve. As Luke and I took him home in the early evening, dad decided he was going to ask "that lady" to go to the movies with him.
"Which lady?!" I asked, leaning into the front seats of the car.
"The older one," he declared.
"Oh! Well, dad, she has a girlfriend. Actually, she's dating my ex-girlfriend," Luke turned his i-Pod mix down. "Most of those women there today were lesbians."
"Oh, Lord! What's wrong with you girls? You need Jesus, we're going to church in the mornin'," Donald cried out from the front seat. And that was that. I joined him at church, hungover, that Sunday.
He's been staying at Heather and Tawn's house for the last two visits. I've often wondered if he realizes he's living with two happily coupled women- they share one room and one bed. As Ashley pointed out during one of our porch sessions this week, "Donald is sharp... He knows." How hard is that for him to conceive of? Over a half century of blaming the gays for the world's ills must be chipping away as his love for these beautiful women continues to grow. Does he consider himself lucky, as I think he should, for witnessing a love he has always considered not only foreign, but morally wrong? Is he proud of us?
The gift of unconditional understanding is a hard promise to make a day out, but I was enveloped in warmth by my dad's momentary acceptance on Tuesday evening whilst dining with old friends. Parents want the easiest and best possible life for their children. My parents are still coming to terms with the fact that for me, that best possible life involves finding the woman with whom I want to build a future with. That’s my path to happiness. I guess I'll take fleeting parental acceptance where I can.
On Tuesday night Tracy and Steve had Danielle, dad and I over for a ham dinner, and we spent hours chatting around the dining room table. We feasted on each others' stories and positive energies as we enjoyed second and third helpings of a delicious meal (there's no dieting with Donald in town). Somehow sexuality made its way into the conversation. From his prominent seat at the head of the table Donald said, "Well my grandfather always told me you can never have any love for a woman that loves other women." After a few uncomfortable moments of silence and awkward glances across the table, dad continued, "But my daughter showed me different, 'cuz I have to love her... Ain't that somethin'?"
It really was "somethin'" to hear my dad declare a reserved acceptance of homosexuality. (Short lived though it was, since he told me this afternoon that I need to "find [myself] a man and straighten up.") I can't count the number of disparaging remarks I grew up hearing my dad spew about "faggots", "sissies" and "dykes". I have guardedly accepted his homophobia as something so deeply ingrained in his 70-year-old island consciousness that, at this point, it is too late to expect much to change.
I've come out at least a dozen times to my dad over the last five years. Three years ago, Donald was at the first "Swizzle In, Swagger Out" birthday party at Vineland. He enjoyed the afternoon of BBQ and dominoes without reserve. As Luke and I took him home in the early evening, dad decided he was going to ask "that lady" to go to the movies with him.
"Which lady?!" I asked, leaning into the front seats of the car.
"The older one," he declared.
"Oh! Well, dad, she has a girlfriend. Actually, she's dating my ex-girlfriend," Luke turned his i-Pod mix down. "Most of those women there today were lesbians."
"Oh, Lord! What's wrong with you girls? You need Jesus, we're going to church in the mornin'," Donald cried out from the front seat. And that was that. I joined him at church, hungover, that Sunday.
He's been staying at Heather and Tawn's house for the last two visits. I've often wondered if he realizes he's living with two happily coupled women- they share one room and one bed. As Ashley pointed out during one of our porch sessions this week, "Donald is sharp... He knows." How hard is that for him to conceive of? Over a half century of blaming the gays for the world's ills must be chipping away as his love for these beautiful women continues to grow. Does he consider himself lucky, as I think he should, for witnessing a love he has always considered not only foreign, but morally wrong? Is he proud of us?
The gift of unconditional understanding is a hard promise to make a day out, but I was enveloped in warmth by my dad's momentary acceptance on Tuesday evening whilst dining with old friends. Parents want the easiest and best possible life for their children. My parents are still coming to terms with the fact that for me, that best possible life involves finding the woman with whom I want to build a future with. That’s my path to happiness. I guess I'll take fleeting parental acceptance where I can.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Bermuda Shorts #2
Dad and I went shopping today. He's been to the grocery store almost every day since he arrived- we can only think of one day that no one was able to take him. Low American prices and motorized shopping carts make the normally banal chore a daily adventure for Donald. I have a few days off from work to compensate for last weekend's killer hours, and when I finally rolled out of bed this morning and asked him what he wanted to do today he said, "Let's go to Shaws, I gotta get stuff for the party!" This weekend I'll be celebrating my birthday with a small party at the house. The original plan was to have a cookout and drinks on the porch, but the forecast calls for showers so we might be forced to move the festivities inside. This will be my third annual birthday bash at Vineland, and the crowning feature each year is Donald's rum swizzle. It's a delicious, and deceivingly lethal, combination of juices, Gosling's dark rum, Meyers light rum and apricot brandy. In his thirties Donald was a chef and a self proclaimed professional partier (half his stories end with, "I used to love a drink!"), so he's all kinds of excited to entertain people at the house on Saturday; he doesn't talk about much else, and at random times throughout our day of shopping he'd yell out, "They're gonna LOVE my swizzle!"
We've now been to three liquor stores and made two special trips to the grocery market picking up his desired ingredients... Swizzle in, swagger out!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
It Takes a Vineland Village
I've had little reason to blog over the last few days because, frankly, I've spent very little time with my dad. Before Donald decided to visit, I warned him that I had a large conference to work during his proposed stay. "Don't worry 'bout me," came his booming response over the phone. In truth, I wasn't worried about him so much as my roommates and the friends that he'd be troubling for daily rides to Stop and Shop (he's somewhat obsessed with grocery shopping); Donald doesn't drive and hates to be housebound for too long, so if I'm not around that means it falls to someone else to keep him entertained.
In the nights leading up to Friday's plenary session I spent a lot of time (and Institute money) preparing for the worst case conference scenario. My evenings were consumed with running errands between the occasional dinner at home. On top of a 45 hour Monday to Friday work week, I spent an additional 35 hours this past weekend running around with a walkie talkie between buildings on campus trying to ensure that sessions were executed flawlessly: "Come in Fine Whine, what's the status of the A/V in Wilson?" Dad could have endured a terribly boring week, but my sister, roommates and friends were fantastic. "What's she named? The little one? She took me church!" Heather earned extra brownie points with Donald for that one, especially considering I got him to church as the final hymn was being sung the week before. Everyone stepped in and picked up the slack.
Sounds like they had some fun with him, too. Tawn halfheartedly complained that Donald got her wasted by making them add more rum to the piña colada mix on Saturday afternoon as they enjoyed cocktails on the sun-soaked porch. They did some party planning for my upcoming birthday celebrations- rum swizzles will be served by the gallon. And, of course, they went grocery shopping. Besides sneaking in one or two quick phone calls, my contact with dad consisted of brief, sleepy conversations when I'd wake him up before leaving for work and when I got home. When the conference ended tonight, I was pleased to get home to sit around the porch table and ease into lazy conversation with four smiling faces as they talked about their weekend.
Thank you to those that kept Donald smiling over the last week; and please forgive the tired ramblings above. I'm still trying to catch up on some sleep.
In the nights leading up to Friday's plenary session I spent a lot of time (and Institute money) preparing for the worst case conference scenario. My evenings were consumed with running errands between the occasional dinner at home. On top of a 45 hour Monday to Friday work week, I spent an additional 35 hours this past weekend running around with a walkie talkie between buildings on campus trying to ensure that sessions were executed flawlessly: "Come in Fine Whine, what's the status of the A/V in Wilson?" Dad could have endured a terribly boring week, but my sister, roommates and friends were fantastic. "What's she named? The little one? She took me church!" Heather earned extra brownie points with Donald for that one, especially considering I got him to church as the final hymn was being sung the week before. Everyone stepped in and picked up the slack.
Sounds like they had some fun with him, too. Tawn halfheartedly complained that Donald got her wasted by making them add more rum to the piña colada mix on Saturday afternoon as they enjoyed cocktails on the sun-soaked porch. They did some party planning for my upcoming birthday celebrations- rum swizzles will be served by the gallon. And, of course, they went grocery shopping. Besides sneaking in one or two quick phone calls, my contact with dad consisted of brief, sleepy conversations when I'd wake him up before leaving for work and when I got home. When the conference ended tonight, I was pleased to get home to sit around the porch table and ease into lazy conversation with four smiling faces as they talked about their weekend.
Thank you to those that kept Donald smiling over the last week; and please forgive the tired ramblings above. I'm still trying to catch up on some sleep.
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