(You taught me that when I was little. BEAT L.A.!)"
He sends me emails (which he never does) telling me he loves me and that "You've done all right, all things considered. You do good things for good people, and it sounds like your friends do right by you".
He's gonna be OK. He's just a little freaked out because his father died of an aneurysm that was close to his father's heart when his father was 7 years older than he is now. And my father hated his dad, my grandfather, until the months before his death when they finally made peace with each other.
He's afraid he's gonna die without the two of us ever being friends. And I'm not gonna let that happen. I am half him, and he is half me. The half that he and I share, he's afraid of. He's afraid that his half of me comes from his family that he dislikes so much, and the other half of me comes from my mother that he loves dearly, but is not his, so he hates that part of me that is not his. (He's wicked self-loathing, my dad)
We're all adults now, so I'm getting on a train hours from now to have a Memorial Day weekend together. My dad's gonna make "margaritas" in his "Jimmy Buffett Frozen Concoction Maker", and I'm not gonna give him shit about it. I don't like margaritas, I hate "Jimmy Buffett", and I really hate anything made in something called a "Frozen Concoction Maker".
But fuck it. I love my dad, and I am without doubt his son. We walk alike. We talk alike. We grew the same damn beard. So when you find me yelling "BEAT L.A.!" on the streets of New York the next few weeks, what I'm really saying is " I LOVE MY DAD, THAT BASTARD!"
