October 20, 2004
Bonding with Dad on Vacation
My Godfather, an affectionate, passionate, emotional man, is an anomily among the males of my family. He is a lilac bush in a forest of oaks. Which is not to say that he's effeminate, but he does smell nice.
That has nothing to do with anything much. I just think it's hilariously awkward when Godfather hugs Dad.
Anyhoo, the unlikely couple had plans for breakfast while we were on the Island (Godfather has a cabin there, too, albeit a much nicer, warmer one). Meet at K.K. Fiske's at 9am. I got outta bed reluctantly to take Daisy outside, and there was Dad, filling the birdfeeder.
"Dad, what time is it?"
"'Bout quarter to nine."
"Oh, you'd better leave soon then."
But I must've been talking at his deaf ear. No, seriously, he's almost deaf in one ear, has been for as long as I've known him. Too many homemade firearms, not enough ear protection. Which, unfortunately, lends credibility to the claim I didn't hear you when he goes (selectively?) deaf on Mom. Ah, marital bliss.
A little later, I was eating my cereal, and Dad walks in with jelly and a knife.
"Dad, why are you eating? You're supposed to meet Godfather for breakfast!"
"Oh, shit, that's right! It's 9:20!" And then angrily, "Why didn't you remind me sooner?!"
Can you feel the love, ladies and gentleman? Can you? Because I can. I can feel the love and respect he has for me oozing from every pore in his body.
No, wait. That's the Canadian whiskey.