Just checking in. We haven't talked much lately. For 2 years, actually.
Dear Dad,
How's that for a title? I didn't pick it because it was catchy or creative, but because that was the title of some of our favorite episodes of M*A*S*H*. Remember when we started watching it together? I think I was in middle school. You didn't really understand why a 12 year old got so into this show, but it was my favorite for many years. They'd play 2 episodes on weeknights. For Father's Day I bought you one season, back when those DVD box sets had about 6 discs in them. I picked season 2 because it still had Trapper John.
I'm not in Korea now (though I did have a layover there) and I'm certainly not going through the struggles of a soldier or a doctor in the middle of a war. But I don't think missing you feels that much different than if I were. And beyond that, I think loss translates pretty well.
I didn't mean to cry in front of people. You're not supposed to here, so after boxing, I stayed home. But Meh A. heard my voice on the phone and the uncharacteristic refusal of a dinner invitation and came over. She gave me a hug and came back with 2 more friends and some food. She said if she'd known, she'd have taken me to make merit at the temple, so that I'd have a "comfortable heart." I wanted to be alone, but it was good to see them.
If I were home today, I'd probably make some barbecue with Britton. We could watch Blazing Saddles and shoot the shit. Maybe have a beer. Or maybe I'd build something, and feel frustrated that it wasn't perfect. Maybe I'd ride the mower around the yard at mach 1, and leave a ring of red dust in the bathtub that will never come out.
But I'm not home. I can't do those things. But I did eat some food that was too spicy for me and remembered how you used to add extra green chile when you didn't feel like sharing. I played "No Hard Feelings" by the Avett Brothers (for me) then listened to my "Old Bullshit" playlist (for you), complete with Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, and Simon & Garfunkel. I went to boxing and, as usual, observed how my teacher's love for his daughters overflows his gritty exterior. I know you never liked boxing. But as soon as you found out I liked it, I know you'd have started liking it too.
I had a drink too. If I were home, I'd have had a Shiner Bock. But here I had the local rot gut, Hong Thong. And if you were here, you'd have said it was terrible, added excessive amounts of it to that weird cucumber Gatorade, and told me how proud of me you are. I reckon there'd be some cop show or Gordon Ramsay on in the background. I'd have switched it over to M*A*S*H*.
