A week ago I said to Sharon, “It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again.” Sharon stared at me blankly while I went, “Come on! You know where that’s from.” She didn’t know. I harangued her, “It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again!” She patiently said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I got louder: “IT PUTS THE LOTION ON ITS SKIN, OR ELSE IT GETS THE HOSE AGAIN!” She said, “It doesn’t matter if you shout, I don’t know where that’s from!” I followed her into the dining room, “It puts the lotion….” She said, “I’m sorry you don’t have somebody who would know what you’re quoting right now.”
4 years ago, I would have quoted that movie and Greg would have gotten it, appreciated it, and topped it with a better one.
3 years ago, I would have quoted that movie, burst into tears, and locked myself in the bathroom.
2 years or a year ago I would have quoted that movie, pretended I was listening to a clever response, and then cackled wildly and inappropriately, prompting everyone around me to ask softly and oh-so-gently, “Are you sure you’re doing okay? Are you really okay?”
Now I quoted the movie, forced Sharon to listen to a gory retelling, and moved on- feeling grateful that I was well-educated cinematically and knowing that I could appreciate the joke all by myself.
Nobody can take away my history. I’m grateful for the fantastic movies I’ve seen, my appreciation of good pizza, my fondness for coffee, my political awareness, and my good heart. I’m glad to be the girl that people come to for book recommendations. I can hold my own in a conversation about the mafia, baseball, and Irish history. I know good music. I have comedic timing. I leave good tips in restaurants.
Yes, my dad still had so much more to teach me and share with me, and it is fucked up and frightening and unfair that he is gone, but I can’t dwell there anymore. I’m grateful for what I got. I got a dad that worked hard to be a good man. I had a father who made me feel special and important, but also humble. My father wasn’t cruel or careless. I will always know without a shadow of a doubt that my dad loves me.
Just think: some kids have dads that don’t EVER warm up their pajamas in the dryer on cold nights, and then tuck the pajamas into their sweatshirt to keep the warmth all the way back into the house. Some dads haven’t EVER picked up their daughter from the airport in the middle of the night or played hours of baseball with their son or obsessed over their son-in-law’s Christmas presents. Some dads don’t even KNOW that their daughter’s favorite candy is red vines and their son’s favorite donuts are plain cake. Some dads have NEVER bought their daughter an extravagant suede coat for a bitter New York winter!
Daddio, 3 years later and we miss you and love you.
