Daddy's Girl
My father has a metal tooth (I don't remember if it's silver or gold, I'll have to note it next time he smiles), a crooked smile (I think because of the tooth), a pot-belly and a big ego. Machismo, I think is the word. Something he got in Mexico, like the metal tooth. He's had it the whole time I've known him, and I am certain it is from Mexico because the only time I've been out of the United States was when we went to Mexico for my mother's dental work. I am also certain that it is very old work because I have never been offered a metal crown. I assume that it was the cheaper option at the time. I suppose that's one way that dentistry has improved, it surely isn't in the drills.
My father worked as an interior painter for over 20 years, before he was fired, or laid off, I don't know how it was qualified. He was either fired for being his sort-of-fussy self, which he didn't expose to me often, but through his frequent arguments with my mother I was aware of his temper, or he was laid off because he was getting old and they did not want to risk having to give him retirement benefits.
He watches the political commentary on Sundays religiously. He would read the paper afterward, when they had the paper delivered every day. They stopped doing that a few years ago, I think because it hurts their eyes to read. Now, he watches whatever they can tolerate on public television because they have never felt the need for the luxuries of cable or internet. He cuts this time by wandering through the house, napping, and helping with the house work from time to time. And there is some continuance of the constant arguing that I thought they would eventually grow out of, but it seems they never will. Especially if he is developing dementia as my mother has insisted he is for the last few years. Which is a shame, because he is obviously fairly intelligent. He's never quite picked up spoken English, but I can't imagine he was just pretending to read the paper, or that it is too hard for him to follow the English shows he watches.
I wonder about my father with the same distance I wonder about how The Kitten feels. Whether because of the generational difference, language barriers or a mutual inability to connect with others there is a distance between us that makes him feel foreign. When I think about the fragility of my parents in their old age I often think about what will happen to him if she goes first. I visited almost every day while she was in the hospital, both to help take him to see her, and to make sure he was eating properly. I never really got the second part down, and between sad naps and school we spent a week eating fried chicken and burgers in relative silence across the lumbering dining room table that I still feel was a ridiculous investment by my mother.
I wonder if he understands that I love him as though it's not something that I could communicate. I wonder if he feels alone. If he's able to make it clear if something is wrong.
Now that they are old, and given the current political climate I worry that he is, as I treat him, a person of limited agency. I worry that this odd way that I view him as unreachable through regular communication will make him vulnerable.
As Christmas approaches I'll spend some time thinking of purchasing a connection to him. Maybe if I found the right gift it would make it clear that I always saw him. That I know him. Maybe then he would open up, if there were a depth he had the vocabulary to access, and we could have a relationship. Then I'll buy him the candy he likes that my mom always eats from first, and give him an awkward hug like I always do.
My father worked as an interior painter for over 20 years, before he was fired, or laid off, I don't know how it was qualified. He was either fired for being his sort-of-fussy self, which he didn't expose to me often, but through his frequent arguments with my mother I was aware of his temper, or he was laid off because he was getting old and they did not want to risk having to give him retirement benefits.
He watches the political commentary on Sundays religiously. He would read the paper afterward, when they had the paper delivered every day. They stopped doing that a few years ago, I think because it hurts their eyes to read. Now, he watches whatever they can tolerate on public television because they have never felt the need for the luxuries of cable or internet. He cuts this time by wandering through the house, napping, and helping with the house work from time to time. And there is some continuance of the constant arguing that I thought they would eventually grow out of, but it seems they never will. Especially if he is developing dementia as my mother has insisted he is for the last few years. Which is a shame, because he is obviously fairly intelligent. He's never quite picked up spoken English, but I can't imagine he was just pretending to read the paper, or that it is too hard for him to follow the English shows he watches.
I wonder about my father with the same distance I wonder about how The Kitten feels. Whether because of the generational difference, language barriers or a mutual inability to connect with others there is a distance between us that makes him feel foreign. When I think about the fragility of my parents in their old age I often think about what will happen to him if she goes first. I visited almost every day while she was in the hospital, both to help take him to see her, and to make sure he was eating properly. I never really got the second part down, and between sad naps and school we spent a week eating fried chicken and burgers in relative silence across the lumbering dining room table that I still feel was a ridiculous investment by my mother.
I wonder if he understands that I love him as though it's not something that I could communicate. I wonder if he feels alone. If he's able to make it clear if something is wrong.
Now that they are old, and given the current political climate I worry that he is, as I treat him, a person of limited agency. I worry that this odd way that I view him as unreachable through regular communication will make him vulnerable.
As Christmas approaches I'll spend some time thinking of purchasing a connection to him. Maybe if I found the right gift it would make it clear that I always saw him. That I know him. Maybe then he would open up, if there were a depth he had the vocabulary to access, and we could have a relationship. Then I'll buy him the candy he likes that my mom always eats from first, and give him an awkward hug like I always do.
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