The girl who just can't play it cool

I was sitting next to my Uncle Charlie. I hadn’t seen him in a long time. He lived in a nursing home. He quietly took a sip from his can of Sprite. And I heard him say,

“This tastes like gold”.

 my radio in my room. Mom and I are downstairs in the kitchen.

“What is this garbage coming from upstairs?”

“Mom…it’s just a rap song.”

“…Those people are angry!”

Is she really so wrong?

now my parents are in the process of redoing his room. So far, my suggestions have been a fireplace, a bear rug, a trampoline, and bunk beds with a slide. All have been vetoed.

Looking back at those ideas, I think my tastes are caught in between ‘successful rich old man’ and ‘rambunctious 7 year old boy’; which I think is a unique and charming combination every parent should appreciate and nurture in their adult daughter. Once again, my creative spirit is squashed.

Actually, not all my ideas were vetoed. My Dad did agree with me that a bean bag chair in that room would be awesome. Mom (predictably) said no.

“It’s bad for your back.”

So I patiently explained to her that a bean bag chair isn’t actually for sitting. It’s for atmosphere.

the phone rang. I was in the kitchen. My Dad was coming up from the basement. We looked at each other. And then we both sprinted into the living room, trying to beat each other to the phone. I got there just before my Dad. Triumphant, I launched my arm into the air, holding the phone above my head, lording it over him.

And it was at that moment that I realized how bizarre we must have looked, teenage me racing my 60 year old dad to reach the phone first, both of us so eager to answer the call. To us though, a phone call is exciting. Every time someone called, it was like an adventure. You never knew who could be on the other end. We both love surprises, unexpected visitors, disruptions, change, noise, strangers. A telephone call meant all of this to us. It’s mysterious and exciting. It’s loud and disruptive. A second ago it was just you. Now suddenly there’s someone else in the room with you. That’s pretty damn magical. I miss the surprise. No one calls each other anymore.

Sam Smith had just won his second Grammy for Best Pop Vocal Album (what a mouthful), and his speech was really endearing. He said how he tried to do so many things to get people to listen to his music- he tried to lose weight, he tried to be different but he only started to find success when he learned to just be himself. It was a really sweet thing to hear. My Mom added to this tender moment by saying,

“See Jess, all you have to do is be yourself. But maybe bring it down a bit because…you know…you can be a bit much.”

“No. It’s a distraction… see if you can do something useful in life.”

Not a knife and fork. Just a knife. It sounds like I’m making it up, but I’m not. I’ve seen it. With my eyes, in real life, in real time.

Christmas lights on the trees on our front lawn. It felt like spring outside; it was really mild out for December. After we got all the lights untangled and organized, Dad positioned a ladder near the first tree and slowly began to climb up its steps. It was nighttime when we were doing this and he doesn’t have the best vision so I started to get a bit worried.

“Dad, be careful, ok?”

“I’m fine, Jess. That’s why I have this ladder.”

….I don’t think he understood.

 my Uncle Charlie on the phone. He’s my Dad’s oldest brother.

“And you know what he told me?” Her mouth starts twisting into a small smile. “He said his prostate is getting larger!”

“…WHAT??? How did that even come up?!”

“I asked him ‘How are you?’”

 As we began to unload it, I heard this loud beeping noise over and over again.

“Do you hear that? It’s a fire alarm…I think it’s coming from the apartment buildings at the end of our street.”

We listened together for a moment as it continued and after a while the sound of sirens joined in.

“See, those must be the fire trucks coming” I said.

“Ok”, Dad replied, “Hurry up and let’s get this stuff out of here and we’ll go watch the fire.”