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I drove down to my dad's place to have him take a look at our car. We were told that we had a small leak in our head gasket and it should be replaced. Probably an $800-900 repair, probably more. I bought the head gasket and asked my dad, who is like the Stephen Hawking of car repair, if he could fix it. (Seriously, he can point at a part in a car and tell you not only it's function and general repair cost, but why that part does what it does, who designed it, what car it was first used on, how variations on that part causes other parts of the engine to be different, et cetera. Today, he explained why Mustangs looked like shit in the late 70's and 80's and why they look awesome now and apparently it's all the Ford Probe's fault. If my dad was into obscure bands instead of engines, he's be the hippest hipster of all time and all hipsters would die of shame and hang up their impossibly thin t-shirts. Besides, my dad can beat them all in the dorky glasses and weird hair department.) Anyway, he took a look at it and said that's what they call a "weep"; yes, it's technically a leak, but it's so small that it's not causing any problems and most likely won't. He said that, especially since it's a Subaru, we might go ten years before that weep turn into a leak that needs to be repaired. So, I'm supposed to keep an eye on how much antifreeze the car loses and if it increases, then I should worry and schedule a couple days for him to take the car apart (literally, you have to take most of the engine stuff out to get at the part that needs replacing.) Since it loses almost no antifreeze right now, (it was a little low today, like a half inch below the "full" line, and I haven't refilled it in at least 6 months) he said don't worry.
I need to visit my dad more. I can tell he misses me, especially when we only see each other a couple times per year. He's a computer nerd as well, but not a social one, so he's not big on social media. (I've discussed previously my suspicions that he's an Aspie.) He doesn't even write emails more than a couple words long. So if I want to interact with him, it has to be in person.
Two nights after I graduated high school, my step-mother, Vicki, left. She did this every couple years. Without warning, she would vanish. My dad would come home from work to discover that she and all her stuff was gone, the kids were gone, and the bills hadn't been paid in a couple months. She'd take us to battered women's shelters (which she lied to get into - he never hit her) or hotels or friend's houses and we'd stay away until the money ran out and she would go back to him. Once, she told us that she was going to marry Michael J. Fox. I read the letter she said she was going to mail him. They were going to get married and we'd live with him. Michael J. Fox. But her ideas, if you want to call them that, never materialized and we always went back. And my dad, being the martyr that he is, always took her back. Because he believed in "till death do you part" and the rest of the marriage vow. But anyway...
Two nights after I graduated high school, she left again. I didn't even know this time because, I assume, I was almost 18 and she wasn't taking an adult along. I don't really know. Maybe she thought I'd tell my dad. I don't know why - he and I never got along too well throughout my childhood. He was always an ogre, always mad about something, raging. But this night, I came home and discovered my dad in the mostly-empty house alone, and I sat down to talk to him and we had our first real adult conversation. We talked like friends, like family, about real things. And he confided in me that he never really wanted kids, or rather, couldn't wait until they were teenagers, so he'd have someone interesting to talk to. So I felt a little like Indiana Jones, when Sean Connery tells him that Indiana left just when he was starting to get interesting. Now that I'm the grown-up that my dad always wanted, I'm not around to talk to him.
I need to visit my dad more. I can tell he misses me, especially when we only see each other a couple times per year. He's a computer nerd as well, but not a social one, so he's not big on social media. (I've discussed previously my suspicions that he's an Aspie.) He doesn't even write emails more than a couple words long. So if I want to interact with him, it has to be in person.
Two nights after I graduated high school, my step-mother, Vicki, left. She did this every couple years. Without warning, she would vanish. My dad would come home from work to discover that she and all her stuff was gone, the kids were gone, and the bills hadn't been paid in a couple months. She'd take us to battered women's shelters (which she lied to get into - he never hit her) or hotels or friend's houses and we'd stay away until the money ran out and she would go back to him. Once, she told us that she was going to marry Michael J. Fox. I read the letter she said she was going to mail him. They were going to get married and we'd live with him. Michael J. Fox. But her ideas, if you want to call them that, never materialized and we always went back. And my dad, being the martyr that he is, always took her back. Because he believed in "till death do you part" and the rest of the marriage vow. But anyway...
Two nights after I graduated high school, she left again. I didn't even know this time because, I assume, I was almost 18 and she wasn't taking an adult along. I don't really know. Maybe she thought I'd tell my dad. I don't know why - he and I never got along too well throughout my childhood. He was always an ogre, always mad about something, raging. But this night, I came home and discovered my dad in the mostly-empty house alone, and I sat down to talk to him and we had our first real adult conversation. We talked like friends, like family, about real things. And he confided in me that he never really wanted kids, or rather, couldn't wait until they were teenagers, so he'd have someone interesting to talk to. So I felt a little like Indiana Jones, when Sean Connery tells him that Indiana left just when he was starting to get interesting. Now that I'm the grown-up that my dad always wanted, I'm not around to talk to him.
