So my Pops came up from Virginnie for the weekend and picked me up from work Friday night to take me out on the town with him. Since I haven't written in detail about the kind of man my father is, I guess I should preface my time with him with a little bio on the shizzle.
Joe is 57 and single. Or if you like, twice divorced. He sired my sister and myself in the early 70's and promptly gave up having children. His role of weekend Dad makes his contribution to my upbringing sound trite, but that's what he was. I am cut from the identical mold that he is, complete with requisite facial hair that is practically a permanent feature of our faces. I'm extremely obnoxious at times, a bit of a know it all when it comes to pop culture and possess a ferocious desire to win at anything competitive. Just like dear old Dad. We have the same sense of humor and bad luck with women. At this stage of Joe's life, he cares about retiring soon, golfing and seeing his kids and grandkids as much as possible. What's cool about Joe is that he is 57, but acts like he's 20.
Let me explain. Joe's major form of entertainment, outside of golfing, is music. The man lives on Kazaa illegally downloading thousands of songs. It's kind of humorous considering his attitude toward technology in his 40's was that of "I don't want to know how it works or what is does!" When the weekend comes, his goal is to make it out to a bar to see a cover band play all the latest and greatest pop faves on the radio. Now being a self professed music snob, I loathe the fact that his palette is so limiting. But the man is driving around in his car singing along to Green Day and the Cult and he knows who they are, so I can't be all that ashamed. Does your Dad download The Strokes in his spare time? I didn't think so.
Anyway, getting back to last night. As I get in the car I am given 3 choices for the event of the evening. Cover band here, cover band here or cover band here. It's always the same choice, and I always just go along with the plan whatever it is. As much as I hate watching a cover band in a bar, I like hanging with my Dad the exact same much. You dig? I could do without his excitement at how good he thinks the band we are watching is, but he's into music and so am I and that makes me happy. I listen to Avril and he listens to Hillary Duff...who's worse?
We hung out at a dive in Jersey listening to this chick go through her set of Sheryl Crow and Jewel covers as I pounded Jack and Ginger doubles (Dad's treat and drink of choice by way...we even have the same taste in drinks). We argued about politics and television shows. We don't agree with everything, I'm indie and he's Joe Republican, I like reality TV and he hates it. But the point is we drank and talked and hung the fuck out. I like the fact that my Dad makes time to come visit me. I know a lot of people get all cringy when they have to spend time with their family, I know I do most of the time, but my visits with Dad are different. We're like friends instead of father and son. Maybe being a weekend Dad created that dichotomy, but I wouldn't want it any other way.
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1 comment:
Sired. That was a nice touch. -todd
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