Dinner with my Father

My father decided to join us for dinner on my birthday. Wow, that is so weird.

Not to bore you with the gory details, but my father wasn't really present in my life growing up. After my parents divorced (when I was under 2 years old), he rarely visited me until my mother threatened to change my name to her maiden name. Not sure when that was, but then he decided to become the Sunday visitor.

My father was (and still is) a charming, smart, funny, good-looking Puerto Rican man. Tall, dark and handsome. He has a beautiful deep, soft voice and a wonderful personality. He has a million friends and everyone loves him... he was one of those guys who is a great friend but a crappy husband/father.

I have such mixed emotions and mixed memories about those Sunday visits. I remember waiting (for what seemed like hours) for him to pick me up -- he was often LATE. I remember playing mostly with my uncle (his brother, who is just 2 years older than me) at the park while he played paddle ball with his buddies and smoked a lot of weed. I remember going back to his house to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken only to find his big german shepard named Hatch had peed on the floor, and my father would proceed to beat him senseless. Poor doggy. He was such a good boy really.

But there are so many great things that I remember about our adventures: going to museums, the aquarium, the beach, the movies, bike riding (in the STREET!), boat rides -- we did so many fun things. I loved to go to my Abuela's house for dinner and she would make arroz con gandules and all that great Puerto Rican food. I remember his many girlfriends with their long red fingernails and bright makeup. I remember hearing everyone around me speak that beautiful Spanish language around me while I longed to have him teach me what they were saying.

I remember playing hide-and-seek with him where he would pretend to be this monster going "ROOOAAAARRR!!!" But whenever he found me, he kissed and tickled me endlessly. I still think I long to be found that way.

I remember there was a time for about a year where he didn't come on Sundays and I was stuck in my step-grandparents house with my mother. Not that I dislike them, but I was so completely bored just sitting in their house waiting for dinner, eating dinner, then going home. Not sure where he was during this time. Maybe going through his own difficult time, maybe he thought I didn't want to be with him, not really sure.

Needless to say, when I was with him I often felt like an outsider paying a visit to an inside world. But I loved my father's mysterious world, his apartments, his language, his friends. He seemed so free of anything and always just did what he wanted. I was sad every time I had to go home even though he and I never really spoke to each other much. I was always pretty quiet.

So, my father called me on my birthday and I invited him to join my husband, Ladybug and me for dinner. He surprisingly accepted. We went to Morton's, a fairly expensive steak house. He loves steak but not sure if he's ever had it at this price. My father seems to be at a crossroads these days, he recently moved out of his house away from his wife and teenage son. I think he has a girlfriend, actually, which doesn't surprise me one bit. Someone was calling him every 15 minutes during dinner.

In some way, he was the outsider looking in at dinner that night. I'm pretty much a stranger to him now, and here he is sitting with my husband and daughter. We're all talking about separate vacations, separate parties, sharing separate stories... as if we don't know each other. It was slightly uncomfortable for both of us but I'm glad he was there.

Overall, it was nice to have him enter my world for a night. And I wouldn't mind it happening more often. I just wish he wasn't late all the time.