the night boat
Dad
Wow. That was about the lowest point in a long time.
Friday night and everything seemed to be spinning out of control. Dad was in the hospital for a few procedures and they removed a polyp. No one knows the result yet, but it seriously must have freaked him out.
Well, it started with him calling me on the cell phone. Neither of my folks _ever_ call on the cell phone, so I felt really weird when he called me during dinner on the cell. Said that the phone number he had for the house was wrong, and decided to call the cell number instead. I’m guessing that it’s because I wasn’t home and he wanted to talk. He never needs to talk, and I always grew up feeling like the eternal little boy.. following after him and posing all the questions.. “Why does the moon come up orange?” “What type of pollution makes it that way?”
We had a short talk about what he’d been doing (going off to see some demonstration on the creation of different wooden shingles, and volunteer activities at the Revolutionary War fort near the house) and then before he hung up, he asked me not to tell Mom that I called. And that seriously freaked me out. He didn’t mention anything about going to the hospital and I had no idea what was going on.
I called home later that evening to talk with Mom to get some information, but Dad answered the phone. Mom was at church most of the evening and de said he’d tell her that I called.
While waiting for her to call back, I started having sort of random flashbacks about stuff.
I realized I couldn’t really call my Dad “Pop” the way he did to my grandfather. They were two different people, and even though I’ve been tempted to call him that, I could never bring myself to do it. That was his word for his own Dad… And mine is just Dad.
I’ll never forget leaving the grocery store back in H.E. when I was still living at home. We’d gone for some last minute groceries, and we bumped into some friends of his… he talked politely, I said ‘hi’ and ‘bye, nice to meet you.’ We pushed the cart into the parking lot and as we unloaded into the trunk, I asked him who they were. He stopped lifting the bags and looked at me and said, “You know, I’m really good with faces, but I have no idea who the hell they are.” We just laughed, and I laughed all the harder because I know I’m the same way. It must be genetic; good with faces and bad with names.
After a bit Mom called back and gave me the details on the trip to the hospital. He’d apparently tried to hide it from her and didn’t want anyone else to go with him. He’s weird that way… any health issues and he wants to keep it as hush hush as he can.
I guess he’s o.k. or at least adjusted well to whatever will happen. But I want to go home. I’ve wanted to go home for quite some time but the lack of financial stability has made things rough for making the trip. I feel like I can’t up and leave if there’s any chance that someone might call with work for me.
Life is too short, and there just doesn’t seem to be enough balance between time and money to go around.
Things will get better. They have to.
Friday night and everything seemed to be spinning out of control. Dad was in the hospital for a few procedures and they removed a polyp. No one knows the result yet, but it seriously must have freaked him out.
Well, it started with him calling me on the cell phone. Neither of my folks _ever_ call on the cell phone, so I felt really weird when he called me during dinner on the cell. Said that the phone number he had for the house was wrong, and decided to call the cell number instead. I’m guessing that it’s because I wasn’t home and he wanted to talk. He never needs to talk, and I always grew up feeling like the eternal little boy.. following after him and posing all the questions.. “Why does the moon come up orange?” “What type of pollution makes it that way?”
We had a short talk about what he’d been doing (going off to see some demonstration on the creation of different wooden shingles, and volunteer activities at the Revolutionary War fort near the house) and then before he hung up, he asked me not to tell Mom that I called. And that seriously freaked me out. He didn’t mention anything about going to the hospital and I had no idea what was going on.
I called home later that evening to talk with Mom to get some information, but Dad answered the phone. Mom was at church most of the evening and de said he’d tell her that I called.
While waiting for her to call back, I started having sort of random flashbacks about stuff.
I realized I couldn’t really call my Dad “Pop” the way he did to my grandfather. They were two different people, and even though I’ve been tempted to call him that, I could never bring myself to do it. That was his word for his own Dad… And mine is just Dad.
I’ll never forget leaving the grocery store back in H.E. when I was still living at home. We’d gone for some last minute groceries, and we bumped into some friends of his… he talked politely, I said ‘hi’ and ‘bye, nice to meet you.’ We pushed the cart into the parking lot and as we unloaded into the trunk, I asked him who they were. He stopped lifting the bags and looked at me and said, “You know, I’m really good with faces, but I have no idea who the hell they are.” We just laughed, and I laughed all the harder because I know I’m the same way. It must be genetic; good with faces and bad with names.
After a bit Mom called back and gave me the details on the trip to the hospital. He’d apparently tried to hide it from her and didn’t want anyone else to go with him. He’s weird that way… any health issues and he wants to keep it as hush hush as he can.
I guess he’s o.k. or at least adjusted well to whatever will happen. But I want to go home. I’ve wanted to go home for quite some time but the lack of financial stability has made things rough for making the trip. I feel like I can’t up and leave if there’s any chance that someone might call with work for me.
Life is too short, and there just doesn’t seem to be enough balance between time and money to go around.
Things will get better. They have to.
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