Happy Fathers Day
This morning, I woke up at 6:30 am. Having just gone to sleep three hours prior, I checked my phone, not to check the time, but to see how many likes my most recent post to Instagram had received. A paltry handful. Lame.
I then called my favorite person in the world, my mom. Why am I writing about my mom on Father’s Day, you ask. Well you would, because you’re pushy. And everybody knows it.
Today I called my mother to pick me up from a friend’s house at 6:30 am. Why was I at a friend’s house? Where was my car? Why couldn’t I drive myself? And last but not least, why should my mother pick me up?
Cool it with all the questions tho for real.
(I slept over. I left it at my acting studio after a great opening night of my one woman show. I wanted to celebrate with a lot of drinks. And my mom is cool like that if you must know, dang.)
My mom couldn’t pick me up however because she had to set up the Farmer’s Market she organizes. She passed me off to my dad who was walking the dogs. He basically does everything she doesn’t want to do so it made sense that he’d be given the duty to receive his hungover daughter at her childhood friend’s house across town in East LA. I’m 28 and this is what we do. I’m a tick that has nestled itself deeply into the fibers of my parents’ do-gooderness.
He arrived five minutes earlier than I expected because he does things when he says he does instead of me when I’m all ‘I’m on my way’ while I’m still brushing my teeth. After I hopped into the Ford Fusion, I quickly launched into busting his chops.
Chops-busting is pretty much the best thing I do. And I learned how to do it by doing it to my dad all day, every day.
I asked: What’d you do yesterday?
Dad: Went on a bike ride.
Where’d you go?
Downtown, then followed the LA River, up Los Feliz and back.
That’s cool. Who’d you go with?
Laurie, and some guys in a bike group.
You hang with a bike gang? Who are these losers letting you into their gang?
Some guys who organize bike rides.
And they let you ride with them? Who are they?
They’re young, wiry, 20-something Latino guys.
(At this point, I’m fully tuned in, wiry, 20-something Latino guys are my favorite kind of guys. Second only to ginger-bearded Spaniards named Xabi Alonso.)
Were any of them cute?
I don’t know.
You don’t know if any of them were cute.
I guess some were.
Tsss. (He’s fully annoyed by now, but why stop?)
How’d you meet them?
They work at a bike shop downtown! I told Laurie where they were going and we met up to ride. (Long pause…I’m dumbfounded. My dad is not a cool guy. These guys sound cool. World upside down.)
You told Laurie where to go??
I’m the leader of the pack.
That’s just sad.
It’s not sad! She listens to me. Unlike my family.
Don’t these people know there are alternatives?!
People at work listen to me too.
Not Randy. Fuckin’ Randy.
It wasn’t until I got back into my piece of shit Corolla that I replayed the morning. I woke up, called my parents and my dad picked me up.
I went to Noah’s Bagels to get my dad a bagel and coffee. It’s Father’s Day after all. I had to do something decent for the guy. Most people might look at my morning as sort of sad. I’m too old for this behavior. Meh. Don’t really care.
I think it’s sort of great. My dad is the nicest guy in the world. I know there is nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for me. Literally.
Sometimes I wake him up in the middle of the night to kill spiders for me. I’m not 5 years old. But what’s the harm?! Spiders can kill.
I’m not spoiled rotten. I’m hardworking and kind. Not really. But often. There are people out there who would say, “Oh Monica, she threw a cool party and let me crash one time. I guess you could say she’s nice.” That’s good enough.
And I don’t abuse my dad’s kindness nearly as much as I could. I’m not a drug addict. I’m not drowning in credit card debt. My dad is my mom’s doer. He does all the hard stuff. He doesn’t complain about it. He goes to work every day. And everybody loves him. Literally everyone. It’s cool but also like, ‘get your own dad’. Because he’s mine and he’s cool and if you let him know he’s cool maybe he’ll get too busy to pick me up when I leave my car parked on the street in Hollywood.