“They said I could do buy this house for very little dad!” I
exclaim.
“Really? Well I bet you could never earn a profit from that
house then,” he says questioning my new so called facts of life.
My heart sinks a level. My shoulders slump. I am 25 and yet you look at me like I am
five years old. Something tells me I could be pregnant with my third kid and
you’d would be treating me like I like just came into this world yesterday.
My heart hums and the motors churn. Maybe I can trust him to
keep talking to him.
“So I found some pot cream!” I exclaim.
His eyeballs almost pop out of his head. Which was funny,
because his eyes normally set in his wrinkled eyelids, buried under gray bushy
eyebrows and with a cynical squint. So it was quite a site to see them that
surprised and excited.
He leans in closer to me and asks, “Here?”
I look around. We are at Izzy’s. I chuckle.
“No dad, at a pot shop downtown.”
“Oh okay.”
In the back of my head, my hurts sizzle away as I remember the
generational gap between us and how different we really are when it comes to
modern culture. The feeling was almost as enjoyable as reading a text message
from him filled with something close to English. Because apparently English
became Spanglish when you try to type it into a phone. I have had my share of autocorrect mistakes,
but nothing compares to a text message from this generation.
The next
day
sitting in my client’s home I had just cleaned, we catch up on the recent
happenings in her life. Then suddenly her dog comes to me and paws at me to come
up. I let the fluffy little Chihuahua
up, but suddenly I notice something terribly wrong. She is shaking
uncontrollably. Sitting in my lap looking into the distance, she then she
growls, almost barks. She wasn’t looking at her owner, but just next to her.
“Who are you looking at Chelsea?” I ask the puppy. Because the
dog would respond right!
Her owner responds, “Oh it is probably my dad. I’ve caught her
barking at that area before. My dad likes to haunt my mom too.”
My hairs raise on my arm and my blood pressure rises. I
somehow stop really breathing very well.
“What puppy, do you want to tell him you’re the boss?” I ask.
The dog shakes and growls. More frightened then aggressive
though.
“What would your dad tell you if he was trying to reach you?”
I ask my client.
“Oh probably to lose weight.” she responds, while shrugging
her shoulders.
I sit with my feelings for a little bit. I feel sad, not
heartbroken, just defeated. I wonder if that is her father’s feelings.
“I think your father would say that he would want you to be
healthy and happy.” I say, trying to encourage her and bring out the more
empathetic side of what was her father’s message.
Such is father. He dies. But he still haunts his daughter.
Nagging her, scaring the snot out of her dog. Trying to tell her to be better and get all her ducks in line.
