Day 9 – Old Home Week

Dammit I had an idea to write about today but I forgot what it was by the time I had a chance to sit down at my computer.

Dad needed his tax forms printed out and I hate printers. Also I don’t have a working one currently. So I drove him over to my sister’s house to get that all taken care of. It took him a while to do it, so I messed around on my laptop and chatted with my sister and my brother-in-law, took a look at the damage from the ice storm and pipe bursting, and petting the Very Good Boy Archer. Tried to figure out why my remote login to my home server worked on one subdomain but not the primary domain (still don’t know why but since I can get in one way, it’s not a huge urgent deal.)

Then dad had to go poke around and look for some things that got packed away when he had to start his controlled-homelessness run. By the time we left, it was after 5 PM and rush hour was in full bloom, making the estimated Google time to get home, across town, nearly an hour due to traffic.

Dad, navigating, sent us near his home bar, and I laughed and suggested that he’d done that on purpose; since he’s been living with me, he hasn’t gone, and it’d been a few weeks. “Your friends probably miss you,” I said. And he thought about it, and said, “well why don’t we swing in for a drink and wait out the traffic?”

You will notice, dear reader, that was not a denial.

Dad knew the bartender, several people sitting at the bar, as well as nearly everyone out on the covered patio around the fire pit. And he introduced me to every single one of them. Almost everyone there knew who I was, told me how much they loved my dad, and said that he only told them good things about me. “Your dad says very often that he’s been blessed with good kids and grandkids,” they said.

It was wild. A little intimidating, even. But it was fun to see dad hanging out with people he knew. I ate greasy bar food, and drank semi-fancy beer (Rogue Dead Guy Ale, for the record) which made me feel only slightly out of place) and listened to dad tell his stories and to other people telling him stories about their lives. Dad remembered everyone’s names. He knew what they did for a living. He knew who was married to whom. It was nice.

And every time someone new walked in, he yelled the same damned joke: “It’s about fuckin’ time you showed up! We can get this meeting started now.” Well, sometimes he started the joke and someone else finished it for him.

Everyone there said they were happy to meet me, and they all seemed sincere. I should go back sometime. I wonder what kind of reception I’d get if I walked in alone? I’m more of a loner than a charmer like my dad. It’s too bad I take more after my mom that way.