Mi Padre

I figured out that my dad was different somewhere around the same time I figured out that most people are kind of just assholes, really, somewhere around the time when "different" started to mean "better." And so I was never really embarrassed, not really, not where it mattered. In case you don't know my dad lost his voice to cancer of the larynx when I was 2 years old. Thereafter he had a hole in the middle of his throat through which he breathed, and he spoke with an artificial voicebox that he held up to his neck, and he sounded like a robot, and that was just how my dad sounded and it never seemed weird to me, not for years, because that was just my dad and so the fuck what? And by the time I understood what the fuck what, I was smart enough to know that what the fuck what didn't mean fuck-all for fuck's sake, so go fuck yourself, motherfucker.

I think actually that my dad taught me was how to be happy and smart and sensitive and special in a place like Vista, which means really in a place like Anywhere, which means really how to be different, how to be happy, how to be who I am. How to love the things I love and do the things I want to do and then just kind of filter out all the rest of the bullshit one piece of bullshit at a time.

And no matter how tight I hold my kids today, no matter how warm and safe and loved I feel today, no matter how much I enjoy Father's Day as a "father", I still am also and ever and always a son, and of course it breaks my fucking heart. It breaks my heart not to have my dad here, in my patio, eating steak and bratwurst and watermelon and pistachios and strawberry shortcake. No to have my dad here by my side watching Game 3 of the the NBA Finals, with my puppy in his lap fast asleep. It breaks my fucking heart and I miss him so fucking much.

Goodnight Dad. I love you.