Three Wishes

T. G. I. am-not-doing-a-mother-effing-thing Today!

I read this somewhere recently and it’s so true: You can’t always put your finger on exactly when it’s going to happen, but there comes a time in your workday when you realize that you’re just not going to be doing anything that even remotely resembles work for the remainder of the day. Sometimes it happens after lunch (especially lunch of the liquid variety), and sometimes you’re so focused on the task at hand that it doesn’t happen at all. It’s elusive, that moment when non-productivity strikes. Today the moment hit me at about 8:00 a.m. I’ve been staring down at this spreadsheet for the last five hours, and I’ve made a combined ten minutes of progress on it. I keep telling myself I’ll buckle down right after this last cigarette break… or after I finish this quiz on facebook, etc. I'll start focusing on the spreadsheet and then I’ll hear the little chime signifying a new email, and like a five year old with ADD I’ll drop everything and furiously click open the window to my Outlook with the heady “ooh! New Email!” rush. So I’m conceding. You win procrastination! As always!

First off and foremost, I’d like to just take a moment to remember all of those who lost loved ones eight years ago today. Eight friggen years ago. Wow. Feels like just yesterday I was sitting in my second period class studying literature when a man burst in the room wearing a fireproof space suit with an oxygen mask. He yelled to all of us to drop everything, leave our personal belongings, and evacuate the premises immediately. Oh and then when all hell broke loose he added tactifully “oh, and don’t panic”. "Don’t panic" says the guy with the oxygen mask and space suit to the crowd of 20 year old kids fighting each other through the doorway with no clue as to what the fuck is going on or what they’re running from. They say every generation has a defining moment when tragedy struck where they remember exactly where they were and what they were doing. When JFK was shot, John Lennon was killed, when Milli Vanilli's back up vocal track started skipping, etc. My generation's moment is 9/11. I will never forget.

On to lighter topics. I had a really great night with my father the night after returning from my trip to Bermuda. Our father/daughter bonding isn’t very typical in that we spent the evening drinking 3 dollar drafts at the Elks Club. Per usual, my dad brought it to the bartender’s attention that he had forgotten once again to give him his senior citizen discount of 25 cents per beer. I then made the required “Hey buddy! Stop stealing my inheritance!” joke, and laughter erupted around the bar. It was great.

Sonny the rip-off bartender kept the beers flowing pretty steadily and before long we were both taking turns regaling each other with the requisite tales of our crazy youths. Different generations, same stories: crazy all night house parties, nights that turned into days, fake ID’s and acid trips. We traded techniques on the best way to smuggle a joint into our border countries (his Mexico, mine Canada), which coincidently was so much easier before 9/11. I love my dad. Soon the conversation turned a bit deeper. He shared with me the story of the loss of his idol, Dale Earnhardt and told me that he died protecting his son from another driver. I’ve never given a rat’s ass about Nascar, but my dad is a huge fan. Well, actually he HAS to be a Nascar fan. It’s a requirement of the trailer park – oh, excuse me, the “mobile home community” - that he lives in. I don’t know if it was also a requirement for him to purchase a quad and do donuts on his front lawn when I bring my boyfriend to his house for dinner, but he does it anyway. Then when I look embarrassed he taunts me in his thick Boston accent: "Come on Jenna! Just hop on I’ll take ya for a spin around the pahhhk! COME ON! Whattayou chicken? Yeah that’s it. She’s a chicken. She’s too uppity to ride on a four wheelah. She’s a big city girl now, wearing suits and stuff using that electronic mail on the computah. That ain’t my daughter. They must'a switched her at the hospital. I’ve been supportin’ someone else’s kid for all these years."

Let me tell you, my dad can tell a story. I sat there at the bar and listened to him talk for a good three hours, absolutely riveted by his words. The only interruption came when the bartender came to give us another round (“Don’t forget the discount this time Sonny, I know you’ve been pocketin' my quarters”). Eventually we started talking about his time in the service during the Vietnam War, most of which he spent as a Military Police Officer in Italy. As he was wrapping up his story he made mention about how he "wished he could go back to Italy someday before he died, although it's just not realistic because it's too damned expensive". Actually, it's more than just too damned expensive. My dad isn't in the greatest health, and among other illnesses he has degenerative disc disease which basically means he's in a near constant state of severe pain, even just sitting or standing. It’s debilitating, and he’s headed quickly towards being wheel chair bound. Chances are he would never be able to handle the plane ride to Italy itself, nevermind the fact that it's a more or less a country best seen by foot. Unfortunately, a trip to Italy is just unrealistic. Then again, since his health is as poor as it is, we both know that if there's something he wants to do in his life, he should go for it sooner rather than later.

We're both quiet for a moment, and finally I break the silence and ask: "Dad, is there anything else you'd like to do in your life?"

He looks at me for a minute before responding and says "You know Jenna, there's two things-- scratch that, THREE wishes I want granted before I die" So I ask him to tell me what they are and he starts counting off on his fingers: "One, I'd like to go back to Italy, but obviously it's out of the question but I'm including it because I said these were WISHES.” He counts off on his next finger “Two, I’d like to rent an RV and drive cross country, stopping along the way in Las Vegas to see Terry Fator perform at the Mirage.” So I ask who Terry Fator is and he says that he’s a ventriloquist that is absolutely amazing. He got an email forward that had a link to a video performance of his act, and since then he's become a huge fan. Then he tells me he’s never been to Vegas. “YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO VEGAS?” I ask, shocked! Nope, never been.

So I ask him what his third wish is. He takes a sip of beer before continuing, and counts off his third and final wish and says “I’d like to have a grandchild before I die”.

So it’s my turn to take a sip of beer before continuing. And then another.

And then finally I turn to him and say “So where can we rent an RV on the cheap?

Looks like we’re headed to Vegas!