Today is a Lucky Day

My dad turns ninety-three today. Yes, really. He was an "old dad" when I was born - he was forty-one - and well ahead of his time. Dads having kids in their forties is much more common today that it was in mine. Many thought he was my grandfather until they got to know us. Dad and I reveled in our age difference - about the time I was considered an "adult" at the movie theater, he was a "senior;" I don't think we ever paid two full price admissions to a movie. And we went to a lot of movies together. We can't go see a movie for his birthday, nor can I even hang out and watch one with him (though I am giving him a new blu-ray for his vast collection - "Captain America," his first Avengers movie). Covid stole all that. 

I moved to this god-forsaken desert to spend time with my dad. I've only seen him a handful of times since March. Don't get me wrong. I couldn't be happier about how his assisted living facility has handled the pandemic. They locked down early (essential personnel only) and haven't been afraid to restrict residents to their rooms for long stretches. We can argue the importance of socialization and emotional well-being, but we can also count the number of Covid cases in his facility on two fingers. Horror stories abound in the news about nursing homes and facilities like my dad's that didn't do enough to keep the virus out. It weighs on me that I can't see my dad, but it's far better than having him die alone on a ventilator in an ICU ward.

So today for his birthday, my sister and I will sit in the open air in front of my dad's facility six feet apart with masks on. No hug. No cake. No candles (Las Vegas has a Red Flag warning today anyway). No dinner or lunch or brunch. And no Covid. I keep telling myself that it's the important part, but as my time here grows longer and the brown-scape keeps getting browner, I often wonder exactly why I'm here. To occasionally sit six feet away from my dad for a few minutes when all the stars of weather, time off, and lockdown status align? We talk on the phone every day. We can essentially do that from anywhere in the world (This has truly been a silver lining in this whole fiasco. My dad and I talk daily, something we have never done in my adulthood). 

So, I ponder what's next for me. I want cooler temperatures and a diaspora of green; waterfalls and creeks; a reasonable cost of living and a place where I can settle down for the longer haul. I feel like my life has been on-hold for the past sixteen months and my presence here near purpose-less for almost half of that. When I moved here, I took a step back in my career, a step that I am ready to reclaim. Mixing paint at the World's Largest Home Improvement Retailer is fun enough (Ok, during the heat of the lockdown mixing for all the f***ers really sucked), but I want something more. The isolation has given all of us a lot of time to think and my thoughts seldom veer from my future - relationship, career, community, LIFE. I have many things I want to do - that I PLAN to do - but I don't want to do them here. If I re-start my career in Vegas, I'll be committed and doomed to stay, and this is not where I want to be. 

Where do I want to be? I have a couple choices, one by far outweighs the other, but there is much to iron out. While I can see my future and I'm exceptionally good at making things happen, the decisions are not all mine to make. Suffice it to say, however, that once the dye is cast, so to speak, I will make it happen. All of it. I will have the future I so desperately want.

For today, though, there's my dad and his ninety-third birthday Covid-esque celebration. We are lucky that his facility isn't currently on lockdown and that we are allowed to visit with him, even amid all the restrictions. Covid has done a number on many families - Facilities locked down only allowing essential workers; family members unable to see sick or dying relatives; dementia and Alzheimer's patients alone and confused, their conditions deepening; lonely deaths in ICU wards.

This is not something I can learn to live with. Today, however, I count myself among the lucky ones. I still have my dad and, at ninety-three, he's still pretty healthy. Oh, he'll tell you about the dearth of replacement parts for models his age, but I'd say he's happy and feels well enough most days. So, yeah, we're both kinda lucky.

In closing - and you can actually stop reading right here, if you want - I'm going to list ten (ok, eleven) of my favorite memories with my dad. 

1. Movies - My dad seriously watched the original "Star Wars" ten times in the theater with me. In additional to Star Wars, we had certain series that we always watched together - Indiana Jones, Die Hard, Lethal Weapon.

2. Umpiring softball games the spring of my junior year of high school. He was behind the plate and I was on the bases. 

3. Every home tennis match I ever played at Occidental College. My dad was in the stands. And often bought me dinner afterward.

4. Going to Padres games as a kid. He taught me the importance of getting to the ballpark in time for batting practice and in leaving during the bottom of the eighth to beat traffic.

5. Jumping off his knees in the pool when I was super little. They made a nice diving board.

6. Laying on my parents' bed watching sports with him on weekend afternoons. 

7. Evenings watching British mystery TV shows with him and my step-mom. 

8. Going to dinner with Dad and his buddy, Ed, before Covid put a stop to it.

9. Dad wanting to meet and meeting all my friends who came to visit me in Las Vegas, pre-Covid. 

10. Dad waiting for me to come home when I was a teenager. He'd be sitting in one of the green living room chairs book in hand.

11. Sitting on his stomach and leaning against his knees while he lay between the stereo speakers listening to classical, swing, or opera.

I could probably keep going, but I'm just happy y'all have read this far. Who knows what the next year will bring? Will Dad see ninety-four? Will I relocate? Will Covid subside into memory? Regardless, though today is a lucky day.