During these DayQuil and NyQuil induced days I’ve come to realize that I miss my dad. Not so much because he was a fan of NyQuil or DayQuil. He wasn’t. He was old school, into homemade remedies. I miss him because of the hanging-out phase of the flu.
Being sick creates a home-bound Guat. No energy for running around, working out, or for folding clean laundry that sits in the corner. Sick Guat just wants to lay down on the couch covered by the blanket. You know that cozy one you curl up with on the couch. It has the great worn-out feel to it and smells like fabric softener every time. When that blanket is out people in the household know you’re sick. Some care, others just go about their regular day.
My dad?
I lay on the couch and it didn’t matter if I was in his spot. It didn’t matter that I was in sweatpants all day. It didn’t matter that I wore no make-up. It didn’t matter that I wasted an entire box of tissues. It didn’t matter. He’d make his old school remedy involving freshly squeezed lemon juice, water, and honey, walk over to the couch, hand me the mug, and sit with me … Not worried about the germs in the air, not asking me why I didn’t throw out the trash, not wondering when the laundry would be folded, and not asking me for the remote control. He just sat there and let me have full remote control power.
But I’d always find something we’d both enjoy. Most of the time, movies.
So as I hung out on the couch by myself last night, sipping my tea, and flipping through the channels, I thought about my dad. I flipped through the channels and came across The Fighter with Mark Wahlberg and Christian Bale. I stopped. I know my dad would have liked this film. It had everything he always enjoyed in a movie. It had that based-on-a-true story premise, good acting, drama, the underdog element, and most of all boxing. I’m sorry to say that he never got a chance to see it as he passed away before the movie hit the big screen. But I know he would have enjoyed it.
Image via thefightermovie.com
We’d probably sit there … sometimes in comfortable silence, other times commenting on the drama unfolding on the TV screen. We’d probably argue over whether Christian Bale was the same guy that came out in Batman. He would say no, I would say yes. We’d go back and forth for about ten minutes before he’d ask me to pause it and look it up on the computer. We’d find out the truth and then my dad would be amazed at the Christian Bale transformation.
If we had the DVD we’d probably end up going to the special features and check out the behind-the-scenes commentary. He’d rewind it a few times, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything. At the end his response would have probably been what it always was when the credits rolled.
“Damn. That was a good one. We might have to watch it again.”
So I laid there late last night with my comfy blanket, my congestion, my cough, my sweatpants, my box of Kleenex, and my tea, watching The Fighter and thinking about my dad.
The Wish Factor 