I was talking with my friend Monica this week about my anxieties. I think they have gotten worse since the drive-by, since I find myself anxious about the smallest things. I may have mentioned that before, but I realized this week that I left a tough working situation at the exact same time at the drive-by. Literally the exact same day. So, maybe it is a combination of both those things. Anyway, I think I am going to be okay. I replaced my broken elliptical machine and believe exercise will help manage my anxieties.
I took Wednesday off work to use up carryover PTO days. It was a wonderful day. I slept in, waking in time to make it to my spa appointment. I love the spa. I got a facial, which lasted nearly two hours and included a shoulder, neck and arm massage. So relaxing. Shortly after I got home, my dad arrived in the city to help me remove the aforementioned broken elliptical and replace it. We went to Sports Authority, found one I wanted to purchase, and thankfully it was also on sale and in stock. Despite my dad’s many attempts to coerce the Sport Authority representative to come home with us and help us carry it up the stairs, he declined and we (my dad and I) managed to do it ourselves. It was fun working with my dad to assemble the machine and, quite frankly, I would have been pissed off at step two and postponed assembly to a different day. Together we did it, and I am thrilled to have it.
After dinner we went to the restaurant across the street. As we sat down, my dad pulled out a Valentine’s Day card and gave it to me. “Mom has been sick, you know, so I was walking through the store and saw the Valentine’s Day display, I just wanted to help out . . .” he explained. I think my sister would agree with me - I am not sure about my brother, but I know my sister would - we cherish anything my dad writes. He is a kind man; sincere, loving and full of integrity, but also one of few words. I remember my sister-in-law being surprised when she first joined the family to hear my dad say “good-bye” at the end of an hour-long phone conversation, not realizing he had been silently listening the entire time.
It was a really sweet card; one that said nice things about how I turned out. But even more meaningful to me, his hand-written note inside was an acceptance of my faith. A faith that was confusing at best to him, when he was first presented with it. But a faith he has grown to appreciate, with questions of course, after years of exposure.
My brother converted to Orthodoxy shortly before my grandfather passed away. At that time, my father was confused and concerned about this unknown faith. My grandfather, his father, asked my dad, “Is Troy still a Christian?” and I don’t think my father knew at that time how to respond. My brother told me this on the drive back to Chicago from Upper Michigan, while my grandfather was still in a coma. “What if he dies, not knowing? Not knowing that I am?” Troy exclaimed. Just over two hours later, he did and we turned around the car. At that time, I did not understand what Troy’s faith was, or that in a few more years I would call it my own. I just knew he was different than the brother I knew previously. He was a better person; a better brother. A big part of that I attribute to his wife, but there was something more. And it made me curious.
For my father to recognize this now gives me peace. To know that he knows.
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On the way to work this Escalade pulled out in front of me. In my humble opinion there is no reason to drive an Escalade in the city. No reason. In fact, I dare say it is irresponsible. Yep, I said it. Irresponsible.