~5~
From me to you
Dear dad,
Remember that assignment I told you about? The assignment that, when I turned it in, I was catapulted into a mini existential crisis re-evaluating pretty much everything? I did well on it – so that’s good! Maybe the stupid numbers aren’t really meaningless, they’re just less important in the grand scheme. Maybe it’s not about just blocking them out, but about rearranging the way we think about them; maybe we are supposed to have a better perspective when integrating them into life.
I think this 9am iced coffee has turned me into some sort of Socrates; you should see the way I’m sitting in my room right now. I’m poised up against my sparkly, sequin Timothee Chalamet pillow with Paul, John, George, and Ringo singing through my record player, chai tea warming my freshly painted fingers and Harry Potter slippers on my feet. It’s like my personality exploded all over me; I’ve always worn my personality on my sleeve and I certainly learned that from you.
I love how well I know you. Some of my friends – even those who also share close relationships with their parents – know them in very different ways than I feel like I know you and mom. Our connections go beyond what is often a surface level comprehension: favorite color or movie or bottle of wine. I know that whenever I say I’m “going up” to my room, you will instantly respond by singing “going up she said, uh huh” from that Paul Nicholas song. I know that any trip to a Jewish delicatessen means a can of Dr. Brown’s diet cream soda and that every time you smile with half of your mouth, you’re lying.
I know that you love mom with every fiber of your being and I see the way you look at her; I want someone to look at me like that someday (thanks for the low expectations!!!). I know your top five favorite songs of all time and could probably explain to any stranger the reasons why each one is a favorite. I know your broadway dream roles and despite your humility, I know you’d make a killer Tevye or Jean ValJean.
I am honored every second of every minute of every hour of every day to call you not only my dad, but one of my best friends and favorite humans on this earth. You have, in so many ways, made me me. I remember when I started to straighten my hair a lot when I was about twelve or thirteen. You asked me why I’d do that; “people everywhere would die to have curly hair like you.” Though it definitely took a few years of trying to be cool to understand what you meant by that, I feel a lot more like myself now when I wear my hair natural instead of blowing it out.
Without you, I don’t even know who I would be. I write and sing and appreciate music the way I do because of you. I miss being Princess Ariel and genuinely believing you were Prince Eric and I miss very desperately, being carried up to bed.
I may have the days of falling asleep on the couch and magically waking up in my bed behind me, but I think it has taken pandemic-induced chaos and academically-exacerbated anxiety to finally understand that you’re still carrying me up the stairs. I have “Eleanor Rigby” to run to and “Strawberry Fields” motivating wintry walks to class. I have “Yesterday” playing amidst the sounds of cooking scrambled eggs and “The Long and Winding Road” reminding me that each step up this endless staircase up to whatever awaits in lieu of my overabundance of pillows is never taken alone.
Because of you, I have The Beatles. Because of you, I won’t have to take another step up the stairs when I get too tired to walk. Thanks for playing “Oh! Darling” in the car that one day, dad.
With Love From Me To You,
Jess