The Folks

My folks are here visiting "us". The quotations denote that dad is here for business and mom is smothering Riley like a great big grandma boa constrictor.

Thankfully I missed out on watching my mother go apeshit over the grandchild she has been hounding me for for 12 or so years. It's sort of like watching a seriously obese man take off his clothes and eat a Fudgesicle.

It's nothing like that, but that made me laugh.

Dad picked me up from work and we drove up towards home with a stop for pizza and wine. As I'm sure I've mentioned before, my father and I have had a tumultuous past, but are now able to deal with each other pretty well. He asked the sort of typical, fatherly, we-haven't-talked-in-awhile questions; he asked about my job.

I know he wishes success for me and has those dad glasses on where he cannot see why his son is not running the world, but it's bad enough that I'm not exactly thrilled with my job so that trying to patiently explain that a corporation cannot exactly create a position for me that doesn't exist was ticking against my temper. He also asked if I had been writing, and again I know that he was being supportive, but it annoyed me for some reason. I tried to short circuit the conversation by simply saying, "yeah a little bit", but I wanted to tell him that I am writing different things and on a daily basis, but most of it would shame him to an early grave, probably somewhere in Pennsylvania.

We finally got into a comfortable rhythm over a pitcher of beer while we waited for the pizza. We talked about our individual experiences with the beauty and majesty of Arizona, his with a recent trip to the Grand Canyon, mine on a camping/hiking trip through the area about 12 years ago.

These are the conversations that I want and expect from my friends. I don't want a lot of chit-chatty, taking care of business bullshit, I want to get down to the real us, talk about things that strike passions and make us laugh. I guess a lot of the frustrations with dad comes from having to wait to get to the good stuff.

Seeing that thrill on his face when his grandson smiled at him for the first time, well hell, that's some of the good stuff.