Enough about me... let's talk more about me

2.9.2004 Parents are Back

The other night, I drove in the rain to JFK airport to pick up my parents. They were returning from their trip to China which they left for on my birthday this past November. Ironically, the weather was nearly identical on that night as well -- it was raining, but not hard enough to keep the car wipers constantly running, but just on the intermittent setting. I have missed them so much. I have so much to talk about. I usually do whenever they go for months on end.

Usually, in order to contact them whenever they are in China, I would have to place a call to the village where they were staying and ask the person who answers the phone to take a message -- all in my pseudo-Chinee-glish fluency. This was usually the one storeowner in town that had a telephone. He usually acted as the central operator for the village as well. The next time that my parents ran into that town folk, assuming the storeowner knew what I was talking about, he would then deliver the message and my parents would make arrangements to call me back -- assuming I was home to receive the call of course. The turnaround time was usually two to four weeks, if they would be able to call at all.

Arrangements have improved greatly since they were last there. My father had acquired a personal phone -- cellular speak, and therefore, were able to keep in touch more often. Yeah, the world is getting so high tech.

A lot has happened since they've been away like Elizabeth, Megan, and I moving into their house. They previously knew about this so it was alright. Like a slick credit card, it was pre-approved. But of course, now there's the reality of it all. We lived here briefly before, so the shock value isn't all that great -- personality-wise, we all get a long well. The variable in question would be space. *Our stuff*. Yes, we now have a lot more *stuff*. And it's a lot more difficult to accept when one says, "Hey, can we move in with you guys? Oh yeah, and we're going to bring all our STUFF too."

Needless to say, the house is a little jam-packed with a combination of their *stuff*, and our *stuff*. Not that we have to tip-toe around everything, but almost. Yeah, almost. I'm just waiting for the frustration level to hit.

A lot has been happening since they've been away. Well, more like the timing of their trip was coincidental with Elizabeth and I adjusting to parenthood. We've started living with a new different perspective. This is only natural and probably true of other new parents as well. Alike living with a cardboard box as a nightstand all these years, one realizes it's only temporary, but one gets to the point where a sense of permanence starts to precede things. We've always said, "One day we'll have a .. And it'll be really nice." We were thinking that maybe that "one day" should start now. We've been trying to answer the questions like where do we want to be? And what do I want to be when I grow up?

I know I've hinted to this in earlier entries -- and possibly in a very strong fashion, and I really didn't want to acknowledge anything publicly until I've chatted with my parents about it first. It's no secret. But it's really come to an end with me tolerating living in New York City. I know. I used the term "tolerating" with my home town. I almost hate to admit it, but it's true. Everyday, when I'm driving around Brooklyn and some f-head cuts me off, I say under my breath, "Man, I'm not going to miss this." Yeah, I'm not a very likeable person to cut off at the moment (Only in NYC though, anywhere else, it's fine to cut me off. Just not in NYC). Please note, this frustration goes way beyond just driving. I'm just using this as a mere example. It has more to do with the non-convenience of everything and the attitudes. Oh man, I'm not going to miss this. Anyhow, you get the idea.

This process of talking with my parents and what it means was very difficult for me. I thought about this for weeks about what I was going to say, how they were going to react. So, instead of popping in a paragraph or two here, I'd like to devote an entry to it.

Yeah, there's a lot to process.

(Note - we don't really have a cardboard box nightstand -- we actually don't even have a nightstand)

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...One thing is that no matter how old I am, I probably will not like being called sir or mister, for they have always seemed too far out of reach...




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