dad

so my dad and barb came over for dinner tonight. it's strange...the older i get the more real he becomes. i can swear. i can say. i can be. and he takes it in, and if he doesn't agree, i see his eye twitch. and he laughs too loud sometimes--well, all the time. and he still loves to wear his polakgear--you know, the white sweat socks with dress shoes. and he loses his temper a little too often for my taste these days (sorry, barb, you inherited that too when you married im). but he doesn't squelch my ideas. and he's proud as shit of me. and he give me room to be what i am.

and it reminds me that most people say--and have always said, actually--"your dad's a good guy." and i'd squint at the comment, wondering what the hell it meant. "good guy." what's that? it's not briliant, not ambitious, not...anyting other than "good." and tonight, it hit me. good. "a good man." and i sit at my keyboard and i kind of smile and cry. just a little cry. but a kind of big smile.

it's really fvcking cool. it's not a bad heritage, you know. it's not too hard to look at my future in his face--crooked nose and all. it ain't a trust fund and it don't take my retirement worries away. but sure is money, baby.

dad, whererever you are when you read this, thank you.