||[Jun. 17th, 2007|11:54 pm]
There are five minutes left here on the West Coast until Father's Day is over. I called my brother earlier and wished him a good one. He called me back later and told me he just saw an episode of the new "Dr. Who" and it made him think of me. He didn't like it as much as the old Tom Baker ones I used to watch with him on occasion. It made me smile; just the thought of this big, brown beautiful man -- this basketball and football-loving macho guy -- being slowly seduced by silly a silly sci-fi show after initially scoffing at his baby sister's choice in entertainment. I had to giggle. I hijacked the TV as a child when Dr. Who or Monty Python was on. Determined, I guess, to turn the rest of my family into big ol' social misfits like myself.
I thought of my father. I wondered if he's just going to show up as each of us dies off. The last time I saw him was at my oldest brother's funeral. I don't know what to think. I have to admit we are more alike than I care for. We're both quiet and unnerved by people, yet occasionally disconcertingly bold. Perhaps I should give him more credit. That's his gift this Father's Day: I admit my father likely does not hate me, has not forgotten about me and is likely regretful that I have about a million male figures more central to my life than he is. I'll grant that he may not have meant harm in sending me an engraved Bible with my name misspelled o_0. I may write him a letter. Give him another chance to get to know me -- and for me to get to know him. That's what I can do with my time this week. Maybe...