One of my favorite things to do is fire off random questions to those I love the most, to those who I think I know everything about. We are a forever changing species (at least I hope I am) and learning about someone is a forever game. When you love what that person is about, watching them evolve and change is almost a privilege. So, while sitting in bed staring at the ceiling or while in the car driving to the grocery store I may ask:
What's your favorite movie at the moment?
Favorite or most prominent childhood experience?
First crush?
Favorite meal?
Who inspires you?
If you could be an animal what would you be?
Sometimes, I know the answers. Other times, I am surprised. It's this surprise I hope for.
When I found my father after being estranged for 13 years, we communicated almost solely on a question to question basis. He was homeless living in Florida and I was living in a small rent stabilized apartment in Brooklyn. This was during a time people still used pay phones. On occasion we would speak but mostly, we wrote our questions.
We didn't communicate about why he left or why his drinking habit was so hard to kick. We utilized time to show our affections toward one another, to try and find the definition of Father and Daughter.
After months of correspondence I booked a trip to visit him. Sitting in the rental car, he pulled out a piece of paper and said, "I wrote down a list of things I thought were important for you to know."
"Really?" I looked at him, slumped into the passenger seat. He unfolded a piece of paper and read, "Jiff peanut butter is better than Skippy. Read the news. Play an Instrument. Fall in love with someone who loves you back."
At first I laughed. But he was sincere. He peered over his bottle cap glasses with his signature "don't I look serious" face. This moment not only took me by surprise but it has stayed with me all of these years. He is gone now. Swept off by alcohol and cancer. No matter how dysfunctional our relationship started (and ended), it was submerged with love- the desire to know someone you care about.
Going to the mailbox can sometimes leave me feeling lonely. For years, I expected to open it and find different sized envelopes smelling of dust and sweat. Letters that were inquisitive and sweet. On the days I feel the void of my father, I open a large wooden box holding our correspondence. I sit on the floor and rummage through, feeling grateful for the permanence.
Guess my favorite color. I bet you'll be surprised,
A
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