I’m blogging tonight becase my pal X told me I should blog often while I’m away from work. (I like calling you X–makes it seem like there’s actually an air of mystery to my life.) So here goes…
Today’s the first day of Dad’s visit (why do I call him Dad here and call him Daddy when he or my family is around? hmm…) Anyway, he showed up around 2 and we hung out and talked, went to the Locks, then Golden Gardens and the Moroccan resturaunt for dinner (two words: friggin’ yum!) I found myself working really hard to try and impress him–with my knowledge of Seattle, my love of culture, my dog, my house, everything. I’m not sure what that’s all about. But then again, I do know what it’s about.
This is the first time my dad has ever come out to visit me. Every time I see him it’s on his turf. So I had to show that I’m in a good place, that I’m out here, 3,000 miles away from my family, for a reason. I feel like I have to prove to him what a wonderful place this is. I have to show him the many reasons I am not going to relocate. My parents–most of my family, for that matter–live under the delusion that, one day, I’m going to pack up and move back to the Carolinas. I can tell you right now that that will never, ever happen. I could list all the reasons here, but I’ll save that for another post.
So I took him to my favorite park, showed him the Sound and the Olympics. I offered to take him out to all sorts of different places to eat. I know that all he really wants is to spend time with me and Petey, but I’m not content with that. The conversations that I have with my dad just aren’t that fulfilling. We talk about one thing, then move quickly on to the next. Each topic is easily exhausted and seems unworthy of attention. It’s always been like that. I’m not sure what to blame it on. Short attention span? Lack of interest? Maybe we’re jsut trying to find ways to fill the air, to work through awkward silences in which I find myself wanting to ask him the big questions. Like what does he really think of the fact that, between all three of his kids there have been four divorces? And why and how has he managed to stick it out with my mom for so long? And what does he want to do when he retires?
I feel like I have to resign myself to the notion that I may never know the answers to this stuff, that I’ll always hold back, that he’ll never volunteer the answers, that the awkward silence will hang there like a dark, heavy cloud that just passes overhead, too full to rain.