The Old Man

 

The trip to New England was my first time away from w-w-work in a year. It wasn't entirely a vacation, at least in principle, and for tax purposes; I had a business appointment. But as that appointment happened to be just three miles from my father's house, it twaren't likely I was gonna just take a coupla red-eyes from and to Frisco and not spend some time with the old man.

My father would have 81 candles on his cake in December, if he celebrated that way, which he doesn't, and as I hadn't seen him in a year-'n-a-half, I thought I’d stop in. Also, he was heading off on one of his semi-annual jaunts to The Continent for a week of museums and galleries, so it meant that I had a place to stay without company. Oh, yum.

We had two days together and as usual, the talk was politics, social upheaval, culture and personal. We started getting along about a decade ago, and most of our subsequent engagement has been about ideas, with a little family stuff thrown in to make sure the conversation never gets too dry.

Because we didn't used to get along for a long time, I would proceed gingerly to avoid triggering his just-below-the-surface anger and to have time for anything that needed to be said between us before one of us shuffled of this mortal coil. Our pacing has been mutual.

We've gotten a lot said over the past decade. Sensing that I might not have another conversation with him, I made sure that he knew I held no grudges, that I was moderately satisfied with whom his only son had become, and that I appreciated his contributions to who I am. He seems to have said what he wants to in that regard, too.

There’s a vast difference between the ways he and I were raised. For any complaints I might have, spoken or not, recognized or not, I know I had it better. And that makes him feel better...which makes me feel better, and still glad I didn’t have children.

And that’s SetonnoteS...I’m Tony Seton.

 

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