At A Diner In Duluth

My father was a paleontologist whom I never saw. He never meant to be a father and so who could really blame him for being bad at it. This is what he told me in one of the few lunches we shared of the decade. It was at a 24-hour diner in Duluth, and it was cold outside.

“I’m sorry that I never call,” he said. “I’m busy doing paleontology and I know you’ve got your own stuff going on and that you’re an adult now. I never meant to be a father and so who can really blame me.”

“That’s a good point,” I said.

“And in any case,” he continued, “I know that you really thrive off of routine and being able to predict what the future holds. I know what a terrible strain this must be for you, me showing up out of the blue and forcing you to have lunch with me at this diner. I promise that it won’t happen again.”

“No,” I said. “It’s really good to see you. I wish that I could see you more often.”

“You’re just saying that,” he said. “You don’t actually mean it.”

I meant it but it seemed pointless to try and explain. He wouldn’t listen anyway. But he’s a good man.

I used to make up stories for my friends when I was younger. I would say that my father was a tyrant. I would tell them that he would routinely tell me that I was a waste of time and a disappointment. They would wince and nod and quickly change the subject and I would imagine and world in which this was actually true. In reality I didn’t know my father, and so I didn’t know if he was a tyrant or not.

“I don’t think I know who you are,” I said, in between gulps of coffee that were too hot. I had to do something with my hands. Raising the rim of the cup to my lips and burning my tongue was my only option.

“That’s a healthy perspective,” he said. “You don’t know who I am because we haven’t spent enough time together. I wish that I could tell you that that was going to change but it’s not. I’m just not that kind of guy. I’m a free spirit. You understand.”

I have a hard time relating to people that I know I am never going to see again. I don’t say “Thank you” to flight attendants after a flight because I rarely fly and I know that there are lots of flight attendants traversing the skies. I’m never going to see them again. Saying “Thank you” would seem disingenuous and it’s important to me that I be genuine. Or as genuine as possible. However, sitting there in that diner across from my dad, I had so many questions. I didn’t know where to begin so I picked one at random:

“When you go to a movie what kind of concession is your favorite?” I asked.

“Let’s not talk,” he said. “Let’s just sit here and enjoy this moment.”

“Okay,” I said, disappointed. I had really wanted to know. You can learn a lot about a person from what kind of candy or popcorn they would choose.

“You were a mistake,” he said, after a few minutes of us looking past one another. I was staring at the rotating pie and cake display case, trying not to cry. I don’t know what he was looking at. I thought about turning around but didn’t because I didn’t want him to wonder.

“You already said that,” I said.

“No I didn’t,” he said. “But I’m saying it now.”

There was a pause.

“But…” I said.

“That’s it,” he said. “I just wanted you to know.”

My father has retired from paleontology but is still a busy man. I don’t know exactly what it is that he does with his time but I can imagine that he is off doing great things. Otherwise he’d be here with me.

A few years after that lunch at that diner in Duluth he called me to tell me that my mother had passed away.

“I know,” I said. “I was with her in the hospital. She asked where you were. I told her that I didn’t know. She sighed and said that it didn’t matter. Then she died.”

“She’s right,” he said.

“You’re an asshole,” I said.

“I know you’re being emotional right now because your mother is dead,” he said. “But you’re right, too.” I hung up the phone. He tried calling back. I let it go to voicemail. He left a three second voice mail which was just the sound of him struggling to hang the phone up. I haven’t heard from him since. He didn’t call again and he doesn’t text.

I’m having a hard time now that both of my parents are gone. I no longer know what I am supposed to do. I no longer know who I am supposed to impress.