Melancholy Baby

After the past two days at the beach, remembering the fun times I had with my Dad there, I started to feel a bit melancholy.

This is the first time I really felt that way since he died almost three weeks ago. 

I suppose it was just remembering the things he taught me as a kid, the ways he tried to bond with me.  I think he stopped trying at a certain point or maybe I became too confusing.  I distanced myself from him because I knew how different I was, so it was easier to just follow the current of my difference.  Or my indifference, as it were.

I went to the Santa Fe Springs Library and used his card to rent some DVDs.  I only use his card because he's got the senior citizen discount and isn't charged to rent DVDs.  He was very big on this when he was alive.  The Downey Library would charge him, even as a senior citizen.  My Dad's frugality brings us close even in the afterlife.  It's a nice little ritual I have whenever I'm down there visiting my Mom.

So I rented EVERY LITTLE STEP, the documentary about A CHORUS LINE, both the original and the recent revival.  There's the Paul monologue about how his parents saw him in drag and at that moment, said good bye to him.  Paul's father goes up to the stage manager and says, "You take care of my son."  In the revival, Paul is played by an Asian guy.  And he delivers the most heartbreaking version of this monologue.  I was in a puddle of tears.  I thought about my Dad and how that sounded like something that would come out of his mouth.  And he kind of did that.  I think at a certain point he saw me as this little effeminate boy who would flit about at my friend Alanna's house.  Alanna's Mom loves telling this story about how they sat down and he told her that I was different.  Sid looked at my Dad and told him that yes, I was different and that's what made me special.  I remember that exact day so clearly because Sid told me that story not long after.  I might have been 12 or 13.  In that story, I was the drag queen, my Dad was the dad and Sid was the stage manager.  And truthfully, they've taken care of me ever since.

I had the good fortune of being a part of my best friend's family who adopted their daughters' gay, strange, transexual, outlandish friends.  From an early age, I knew I could go somewhere and completely be myself.  It was a godsend.

So after watching the documentary, I had to get ready to meet my high school friend Jeff to go see a play in town.  I showered and looked at myself in the mirror.  I had gotten some good color.  Yet, another reminder of my Dad.  He loved to show off when he got some good color.  And we were taught to be proud when we got Good Color.  The Hawaiian born person's skin color is akin to how African Americans feel about Good Hair.

Then I went into my Mom's bedroom and got my father's favorite cologne, Eau Savage by Christian Dior.  It's classic.  It's their first men's fragrance and by far one of the best scents I've ever smelled.  My Dad had great taste in scents.  So I put some on and I felt a bit closer to him in that moment.  It was a good moment.  My Father had a sophistication and a straight forwardness that I've completely embodies, but in a different way than he did.  But those are heirlooms that he's passed on to me.

I understand now what it means to appreciate something far more after it's gone.  That doesn't mean that I have regret, it is just that my Father's prescence means something different to me now than it did during most of my life before he got sick.  Now, that's a thought.