KiNdAfaBuLous
STOP THE CAR!!!
My Dad and I just had a really huge fight. It was a pretty formidable blowout-all in the space of our office (and out in the parking lot too [I take it out to the parking lot sometimes when I really need to yell]). Unlike most of the other fights we have, this one really wasn’t my fault per se; nonetheless, my father got upset to such a degree that I actually worried he might have a stroke or heart attack or something.
As my parents get older, thoughts of them dying or passing away are now a more real, tangible anxiety. Both of my parents work at really stressful, intense jobs (at their own accord), so I worry about them a lot, especially since both of them have had their own respective health issues. It’s like the roles have shifted and they’re my children, so I’m constantly worried and imprisoned to this worry-perpetually cuffed to the fear and anxiety of my parents’ mortality.
Rather than worrying about them so much, I’m also trying to actually enjoy them as human beings and cherish the funny moments. Driving to work this morning, my mind drifted to a trip I took a few months back to San Francisco, and how much I appreciated my Dad for driving me to the airport for a multitude of reasons. Normally, my conservative, forever-serious father can be, well, conservative and serious; however, occasionally-he breaks out of that mold into his (paradoxically) goofy, cool self at times.
Running late on the way to the airport, I had packed in a hurry, and my father drove as quickly as he could since we were in a huge rush (I’m always late). Scanning my brain for things I may have forgotten, it suddenly dawned on me that I may have forgotten to remove the pot I had received as housewarming gift (several months earlier) from my weekend bag. Since I had packed my weekend bag so quickly, I had no idea where this pot could be. I just knew it was somewhere in my weekend bag.
So I screamed at my father to “STOP THE CAR!!!” Of course, he was like, “what’s going on?!?” And so I frantically explained to him that I had to unpack my entire weekend bag because I was scared that I might have accidentally packed “drugs somewhere inside the bag,” and he brilliant responded that I “better find those drugs!”
Pulling the car over in front of a Carl’s Jr., he tried to help me look for the pot. He also told me he wasn’t going to “bail me out of jail” if I got caught, which was his way of saying, “sort it out, Edward. You little mess.” Rather than judging me for (possibly) having drugs in my weekend bag, he just encouraged me to “look harder” and “look faster” and “get yourself together, man!” And he also sort of giggled and shook his head simultaneously like you do after your dog steals a cookie from the counter.
Luckily, there were no drugs in my weekend bag. Thinking back on that-I really appreciate how cool and understanding my conservative, serious father was (and is). Even though we fight and I get frustrated, I need to give the man props for being surprisingly understanding and patient with my antics-copious, abundantly foolish antics.
