After three weeks at home it’s that time again, time to head back to Davis. These few weeks in San Francisco have been filled with…Muni rides and trips downtown. Even Chinatown with my family, my mom, Nicole, and Chris. Separately. (To Julianne. You know, naps. Separately. Haha.)
I also haven’t spent this much time with my dad since…never. My dad was always the breadwinner of our family; my mom was the one that took care of us at home. Circumstances change. Changes I wouldn’t have ever imagined. Growing up you think your dad is invincible. So strong. I remember finally looking at my dad after that one summer, really looking at him. He looked…frail. I wanted to cry right there in the middle of the dim sum restaurant. I didn’t, but it made me think where was I this whole summer? This year? I’ve seen him going in and out of the hospital. I’ve seen him at home. It was also the summer my mom deemed me old enough to confide in, not just merely there in the background (I was always around.) when she talked with other adults. It’s one thing to see your mom worrying and venting with others and another to see her cry while talking with you…I sure was in some state of denial.
Things are back to a semblance of normalcy. My dad is well, but he’s been the one at home now. With his help and patience, I finally have my license. It’s funny. For the longest time my answer to the recurrent question, “Would it be easier to tell your mom or dad?” was without hesitation, my mom. She is the one that raised me at home and the one that I’ve spent the most time with after all. My dad and I didn’t talk much either. Recently my answer has changed. doesn’t matter. My dad has surprised me. He was the one that told me the things I needed to hear. The one that gave me a hug. In a physically unaffectionate family, it choked me up. Thinking about everything, it still does.
I love you dad. I endeavor to, one day, have a smidgen of your strength.