Home, at last, this is going to be a good one, a long one, the flying has slowed some. I’ve resolved to be more gentle, less controlling, in my relationship with Geri and Kiley.
Were a one-car family, and we like it that way. Geri has picked me up at the Jax airport, and the ride home has been light, pleasant banter. No bullshit yet about money problems, or the honey do’s that need to get done around the house. Geri drops me at home, and returns to work.
Showering, scrubbing off the dust of a few continents, I change into shorts and a t-shirt. I get the washer started, and Emma, our male cat, is suddenly underfoot, rubbing, walking between my legs. Following his castration a few years back, Emma has become heavy and lazy, sleeping on his back in the sun after meals. I’ll never forget coming home and Kiley, all of about four-years-old then, rushing out to confide to me… “Daddy, daddy, Emmie had his balls cut off today!”
“You’re a chow-hound, Emma,” I accuse. If you overeat, Mommy’s gonna be all over me…but you’re wounded…and I know how to take care of veterans,” as I fork more tuna into Emma’s dish.
I find that I’m talking to the cat more often, enjoying the conversation, but wondering if there’s something wrong with me. I dismiss it, I’m content at being home.
“There was this Princess, who was a prisoner of a wicked Sultan…” Kiley’s rapt, I’ve got her attention. “…to save her life this princess, Sheherezad, comes up with a plan. She starts telling these very interesting stories, one each night, to her evil captor. All morning long this Sultan keeps thinking of last night’s story, and by afternoon, he can’t wait for tonight’s new tale. So Sheherezad comes up with 1,001 tales.” I’m driving Kiley to school, a morning ritual which we both love. If you want, I’ll get the book out of the library, and well read it together at night.” Another of our rituals…. I usually fall asleep faster than she does, but not before she elbows me awake a few times…"Dad!…DAAAAAD!”
Kiley says that “yes,” she’d like to read those stories with me.
On one condition,” I put to her, that you let me play one of my ‘uckie’ CD’s for you afterwards, called “Sheherezad,” by Rimsky-Korsakov.” Kiley laughs, knowing that she’s being taken. “After we read some of those stories, I want you to close your eyes while you listen to some of the music.”
Its a deal,” she says, high-fiving me as she gets out of the car.
“Parent pick-up,” I call after her. She smiles, and waves, she knows its parent pick-up when Fm home.
Kiley loves ‘Bare-Naked Ladies’ and ‘Mambo #5,’ and tolerates my Italian opera as I make pancakes and bacon for her and her sleep-over buddies on the weekends.
“I need to hear Italian opera when I cook,” I explain. “I can’t cook without Italian Opera.”
Kiley comes up to me, looks me in the eyes lovingly, and says, “Dad, I’ll never understand you.” Then she wraps her arms around me, hugs me and kisses my shoulder.
“I love my wife!” …Pilot humor…