4:00 a.m.
daddy
Because I have officially hit the "I'm tired and insane!" portion of the evening, I thought I would try to tackle writing about my father. You know, logic? It rules my existence.
I'm not going to say anything serious about my dad, though, because I write serious things about him all the time, and it almost does the man a disservice. Do I ever mention the fact that he has a sly wit and (when he's not too busy being freaked out about my driving) a constant, slightly mischievous gleam in his eyes? Because he does. And I'm sorry this picture doesn't really capture that (among other things, like, say, the back of his head, for example).
The amazing thing about my relationship with my dad is that even though we don't see each other much, and when we do we don't talk a lot (which could almost be funny, since I have a tendency toward being a talker, and I've observed that when he can slip into his native language, he can be one too), whenever something funny happens -- something miniscule, slight, tiny enough for no one else to notice -- his gaze will find mine, and that sideways grin that we both have will creep slowly across our faces, mirroring each other, and we'll share a nod. The two of us, we get the joke. And in those moments, we understand each other completely.
Because I have officially hit the "I'm tired and insane!" portion of the evening, I thought I would try to tackle writing about my father. You know, logic? It rules my existence.
I'm not going to say anything serious about my dad, though, because I write serious things about him all the time, and it almost does the man a disservice. Do I ever mention the fact that he has a sly wit and (when he's not too busy being freaked out about my driving) a constant, slightly mischievous gleam in his eyes? Because he does. And I'm sorry this picture doesn't really capture that (among other things, like, say, the back of his head, for example).
The amazing thing about my relationship with my dad is that even though we don't see each other much, and when we do we don't talk a lot (which could almost be funny, since I have a tendency toward being a talker, and I've observed that when he can slip into his native language, he can be one too), whenever something funny happens -- something miniscule, slight, tiny enough for no one else to notice -- his gaze will find mine, and that sideways grin that we both have will creep slowly across our faces, mirroring each other, and we'll share a nod. The two of us, we get the joke. And in those moments, we understand each other completely.
