boston, massachusetts

A Portrait of My Father, or, Daddy Issues.

family has always seemed to orbit a handful of unfortunate things. In the  time between these events, it becomes a waiting game, a build up of anxiety that doesn’t cushion the actual blow.

• Car accidents.
• Lying to “protect” each other
• Incidences that prove tangible evidence of my father’s inability to be a father, a husband, a mature adult, a role model, etc.
  
• All of the above, at the same time, normally around Christmas.

If you’ve known me for anything over two years, you would know that he’s a truckdriver, and that his age has correlated with his accidents. At 50, his last three accidents average to once every six months. That’s twenty tons of metal and tires running roads at 70 mph that has a 50/50 chance of totaling itself and anything in its path every December and July.

Which is to say, he was recently in another accident, that totaled his truck. The number of accidents that this man has gotten up and walked away from with only a few scratches is unreal.

And when I hear this news, almost a month after it has passed, all I can think of is what a fucking broken record it has become, and this unnamable, not quite invisible weight on my shoulders makes me rest my head on my knees.

[editted, because perhaps it should end there]

Bean Town.

Boston has been great. Did you know they sell beer on the ferries? Needless to say, Peako and I have made friends with the skippers.

The other night we wandered into a Hilton Hotel, hoping the bartender wouldn’t card Peako. And he didn’t, since she only ended up ordering ice cream. Anyway, the barkeep was named Dragan, no shit, pronounced Dragon. He was great. I started talking to the consierge when Peako went to the bathroom. I told him that my friend had lost her ID at the Charles River, and that we were looking for a place with live music to spend our evening at.

He, thinking that we were staying at the hotel, called in a few favors at a local karaoke bar. He not only called the bar and told him that we were coming, but drove us there and paid for the first few rounds.

Peako and I sang “Song of the South” first, and, of course, “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Duh.

Headed North

I left Huntsville last Monday and spent a wonderful week in Roanoke, crashing on Rachel Emery’s floor. She was staying at Hollins over the summer and working at the library. It was great to live there and have all of the worrying of school and classes and grades stripped away and just enjoy the campus. My camera broke when I went to Arcadia for hiking and swimming, and I’m still trying to get it fixed.

When my ride to DC fell through, I waited a few days before panicking and then did what I always do when I panic. I went to a party.

There I met Sarah Sullivan, a Hollins grad, who was going back to DC the next day. I caught a ride with her and spent the night at her house, with her awesome family and puppies, Rascal and Sushi. We went rock climbing at Great Falls, and I’m still sore. My 54 pound back pack that I wore immediately after the hike probably didn’t help.

She took me to the East Falls Church train station, and I caught the metro to Dupont Circle where I met up with my wife, Carolyn. We ate at Afterwords, the cafe in Kramer Books. It was a fantastic reunion. I wanted more pictures to illustrate my trip, but since my camera broke, I only have this one taken in Carolyn’s apartment in DC. It’s awesomeness makes up for the lack of others.

I caught the 3am train to Boston and spent the morning traveling, every stop making me want to get off to visit friends in Providence or New York. The long train ride was, at the end, exhausting, but definitely my perferred choice of transportation.

Peako got into town later in the evening. And so we’re here! Robin took us out to dinner last night at the Tavern on the Water, and left for Nantucket this morning. We’re going to visit her in a few weeks, by then, hopefully, my camera will be fixed.