Sunday, September 13, 2009


Got up really late today. Was lying in bed fantasizing about love, with no one in particular, which definitely sucks. It pretty much always ends up in tears. Boo hoo, woe is me. Mom comes down to tell me that my father (aka Aboo) will be here in 15 min. She’s found a bunch of his old air force stuff, so he’s picking it up. I drag my pathetic bones out of bed, wash the tears from my cheeks, and slap on a smile.

Aboo arrives. He comes in with his usual nervous, socially inept air that hides the fact he is actually a supremely confident and strong-willed individual. It must be strange for him to enter into this house that used to be his. I wonder at Denny’s ability to accept my father into, what is now, HIS home. My Parents (to the third power) are quite a remarkable bunch of old folks. But, I digress. It is now around 12:45 in the pm and almost time for Aboo’s 1 o’clock meal. Eternally the air force pilot, he eats (and does most things) on a rigid schedule. I happen to be quite famished myself, what with all the morning internal moaning, so I decide to make us some grub.

Khakina. Never heard of it? Well, its one of the most delicious egg scrambles you’ll ever have. Onions, tomatoes, coriander, sautéed in butter and special ingredients (you will never know the secret!). Eggs are tossed in and voila! Very yummy breakfast. I get to cooking, as Aboo and Mom start talking about history. My father’s history, to be exact. It begins quite simply, with Aboo discussing how to use his helmet and oxygen tube thingy. Then, as is the case with Aboo, the discussion turns to facts- scientific facts. He starts to talk about G forces and this special suit he had to wear that inflates to combat the weight of this mysterious gravity force. I learn that when the human body is under 2 G forces, our weight doubles. That G forces also make your blood heavy and almost impossible for your heart to pump, which then causes a loss of consciousness. Ca-ray-zay.

At this point, I’m not really an active part of the conversation. I’m just cookin’ and listenin’. All I hear is ‘when you’re pulling G’s…and dropping bombs…’. Hmm. The fact that my father was in the air force is, of course, common knowledge. But something about hearing ‘dropping bombs’ come out of his mouth, is new to me. I have no connection to that time in his life. My siblings grew up on the air force base, hearing air raid sirens, being in bunkers. I grew up in suburban Toronto, with snow and ballet lessons. I mean, MY dad, who is now a cute 70 year old man, discussing his history of dropping bombs and pulling G’s, just sounds so…gangsta. So, Hip Hop. B.O.B. anyone? That’s right, you heard me. This is some real-ass shit people. So don’t mess with me, alright? My pops will bomb your ass.

No comments:

Post a Comment