Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how thankful I am that my parents raised me in a house where family was important. Sometimes it makes me sad that we live in five different cities on three land masses, in time zones spanning 18 hours, but I appreciate the fact that we still communicate pretty regularly. It’s strange to go more that a few days without talking with my dad. He is a good man, who amuses me.
After talking about how busy the week has been so far, and my reminiscing about how I miss my friends on the Mainland, thinking about the good old days with those I grew up with, we start our goodbyes, with a brief* interruption…
S: So, are you going to watch Friends tonight?
P: I don’t really watch that.
S: Pop! You know, it’s the next-to-last episode.
P: I know. I read your entry about, what was it, grapesmuggler?
S: (Giggling) Yes. You know what that is, right?
P: I assume someone who smuggles grapes.
S: No, it’s a Speedo.
P: What?
S: You know a Speedo. Men’s swimsuit. Grapesmuggler. Get it?
P: Yeah.
S: Okay, talk to you later.
P: Bye.
As we hang up, I hear him laughing.
*Get it? I didn't until after I typed it. I seem to be channelling a 12-year-old.
Ha, that's too funny!
That's one of the things I like about you - the way you talk about your father. There is much love in it...