2019-08-14 08:22
We were out at Dettera with Lianne's mom last night when I re-remembered it was my dad's birthday, so I went out to the vestibule to call him. He turned 84, twice my age. Dad's never been a great phone talker, and I haven't been either since my high school and college days when I'd spend forever on the phone, usually with some girl I liked (someone I was dating or one of my long distant pen pals at the time). Other than baseball, which I only sporadically follow, we don't really have interests in common, but he's also tried to show interest in what I do. In my pre-driving days, after I got obsessed with comics, he would drive me every week to the old comic book store in Quakertown and buy me some comics. And before that it was baseball cards. Unlike mom, he never had much to say about my art, and never showed interest in the music I listened to, but for awhile there we also had these hobby/consumerist things we would do. If I think too much about it I feel bad that we don't have a closer relationship, something we could share. But it's also not like we have a bad relationship, we love each other (and know it), we get along, there's no bad blood or anything even remotely like that. So I guess as father-son relations go, it's above average. At least he's still around to call on his birthday.
An early morning rainstorm is passing over, the rain is so straight and heavy out my office window that it looks like fog between the house and the trees in the park, yet there is no wind, the trees are completely still. All accompanied to the persistent meowing of Buddy as he begs for... pets probably.