they tell you it will get easier and it does, it really does. i don’t think about him nearly as much and hardly ever cry. but the other day, i was alone in Rosemary and picked up my phone to call him. CALL HIM.
then, i sighed “fuck” and went back to setting up the bar.
i just wanted to tell him how the opening week went, how beautiful the bar looks at night, how the drinks are selling like hotcakes, how i am heard and respected by my bosses, how i am working 18hr days and totally happy, how i am still astonished nashville ended up being my promise land. and that’s the shitty part about your dad dying, the one dude you spend your entire life trying to make proud isn’t around to say “good job.”
i have this friend. his hair goes every which way and his hands are always clasped across his stomach. you can say one thing and send the guy into hysterics. once, he almost crashed his truck because i said something about my thumbs. anyway, his dad died, too. sometimes we talk about it, sometimes we don’t have to. i think we would have ended up friends regardless, but it is nice to share this type of fuckedupness.
i spent half of my early 20s wanting to be married and the other half complaining about being single. my dad used to say, “babe, you take after me and i didn’t get married ’til i was 32.” i used to roll my eyes, but now i’m almost 31, still single, and doing exactly what he was doing at my age: bartending (and fantasizing about becoming a famous creative.)
i wonder what it’s like to have a kid that not only looks like you, but sounds like you, behaves like you, thoroughly resembles you. he must have watched me– especially his last few years– like you’d watch a crashing train. can’t do anything about it, just send up a prayer. he taught me by word and action, to always land on my feet, to take care of business, to work hard, to not take any shit from anybody, to eat and drink and be happy.
he was the best of the best.
so, maybe i can’t hear him say “good job,” but i know i’m doing one because i take after him.