To Laugh...

Last night, my dad called me for computer help. He couldn't get a CD to open up on his desktop and had made many attempts to do so. He sounded tired and old, a tone that makes my heart ache. After we figured out that there wasn't much I could do 500 miles away, he said it was OK. He would figure something out.

Then he paused. "What was I going to say?" he pondered. See, I know this trick. It's the trick that makes the other person have to continue the conversation, a sign that you don't want the conversation to end, but can't think of anything remarkable yourself to keep it going. I didn't give in.

He finally asked me question about work and I took the bait. I ranted to him for about five minutes straight, not even realizing that I was this unsettled about the subject of my rant. Throughout the conversation, I could hear my dad chuckling to himself. I ignored it until the end and then felt my rant get more riled because of the chuckling.

I'd like to think that my dad heard himself in my voice, the chuckling a moment of recognition between father and daughter who are so much more alike than they'll ever admit. I'd like to think that my dad heard my mother in my voice, the chuckling a remembrance of how hot under the collar she used to get. I'd like to think that my dad heard me, my voice of anxious unsettlement and my neverending search for his approval, even if disguised as laughter.

~LZH