Archive | 11:56 PM

My Dad…The Filet Mignon of My Life

30 Jan

“I know you hear me, but are you listening?”

“Apoco…nooooooooo? Reeeaaaaaaally. Don’t be reee-di-cu-lous.”

“Hey…hey…hey…regaaaaaardless…”

This is what I heard most of my life growing up and most of the time my Dad would use these phrases incorrectly. He cracked me up. We’d both use these phrases in conversation and try to beat the other one to the punch.

But his most popular phrases were: “Don’t get hasty. Are you getting hasty? Don’t get hasty…” and “What am I, chop liver?”

Growing up, I was not really your best morning person (incidentally that hasn’t changed at all) and my Dad was very aware of this fact. So he’d barge in the room with his loudest Robin-WilliamsGood-Morning-Vietnam voice and say, “Hey, hey, hey…are you awake. You look awake. Are you awake?”

I’d grumble in anger. He’d continue to torment my morning-monster attitude, until I’d lose it. I wake up yelling “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!”

His response…”Hey, hey, hey don’t get hasty. Are you getting hasty? Don’t get hasty.”

“Dad you don’t even know what that means! God!”

“Hey…I said don’t get hasty.”

“Hasty? Hasty means I’m moving fast. I’m not even moving. You’re using the wrong word!”

“No. No. No. I’m using the right word. Don’t confuse me. You’re getting hasty. Hasty!”

“Dad!”

“Don’t get hasty.”

“I’m not hasty!”

“Your whole attitude is hasty. Get up, it’s morning I need you to help me wash the car. I’ll wait for you outside.”

“I’m not helping you. You’re crazy!”

“HEY!!!”

“Don’t get hasty, Dad. Don’t get hasty.”

So there it was. Our morning routine. But even well after I moved out. I still heard these Dad-isms frequently as we spoke with each other every night, either through telephone calls or in person. We’d talk to each other almost everyday. I’d see him, maybe three or four times a week, whether it was for lunch, dinner, watching football games, watching the Emmys or Oscars, watching our favorite television shows, going bowling, or just hanging out. If I was busy with some writing assignment, tired from work, or out of the house doing something else he’d say…

“What am I, chop liver? I see how it is.”

My Dad on his adventure

My Dad on his adventure

 

My dad was never chopped liver. And he knew it, because most of the time I’d drop whatever it was that I was doing and go hang out or end up in some crazy dad adventure.  He was a day-dreamer and  I’m sure he had a Bucket List. In fact I know that I was part of some of his Bucket List adventures some which were ironic, like zip lining. A) He was scared of heights and B) He did not swim very well he was more like a floater that splashed.  You would think he’d adventure this in a controlled environment with safety precautions and personnel. No. Not my Dad. He chooses zip line in Guatemala. There are no harnesses or helmets. Just some dude that says…una…dos…tres! And there’s my dad living off adrenaline, laughter, and adventure as he swings his way across a ravine.

My Dad…he was my biggest fan.

He lost his battle to Interstitial Lung Disease a year-and-a-half ago. He didn’t even smoke. He would’ve been 64 years old today. I miss our conversations. My Dad … he was never chopped liver, he was the filet mignon of my life. Feliz  Cumpleanos, Chito.

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