The Race

Notwithstanding my recent rant about Vivian being my witness and my trying to be a good son, my dad and I are already like room mates in need of some separation.

I don't like to wait. I start late and drive fast to get wherever. I feel physically queasy if I'm not the last person to hurry into an airplane. I hate doctors because they always make you wait. So I have to invoke some inner zen calmness when I walk with my dad. He's excruciatingly slow. And then he completely stops and looks at something for a while. Or pokes at a dead leaf with the pointy end of his hiking pole.

So the other day we step out to go to the grocery store. He asks if we are driving. I need to invoke that inner zen and say "Yes. We are driving. You walked to Central Market once four years ago. It takes us 15 minutes to walk down and around the corner to your house." He says "No - I walk to my house in 5 minutes".

In a flash I whip out my iPhone and start the stopwatch. He gets this steely look in his eyes and shuffles down the porch steps. Once he hits the sidewalk, he's practically running. At first I'm a bit worried. Then I start to imagine the music from Chariots of Fire. My dad picks up speed. We careen down the street and lurch up the next one. At the doorstep of his house my stopwatch reads 8:47. I'm impressed. But I say "See, not 5 minutes". He catches his breath and says "I could do it in five. I was taking it easy."