I have once again been inspired by David Sedaris to write some vignettes.

1.Dig the Hole Deep

Like most twentysomethings, my relationship with my parents has changed. They've lightened up for the most part, but still throw in their opinion and advice on EVERYTHING. I don't see my dad a lot because he and my mom are divorced and he live(d) in New Jersey. Every year he comes back to Texas he swears up and down that he's never going back; that the place is hell on earth. But it always seems that someone waves the almighty dollar in front of his face and before he can unpack he's back on the next flight to Newark. The dad I knew as a kid was that he was mostly serious. Work ruled his world. Everything was "point A to point B to point C". He has a quirky side too, though. He still wears white gym socks up to his knees when he wears shorts. In the 80's he complimented this ensemble with ankle weights and company T-shirts that accentuated his ever-growing gut. He yelled. A lot. He took notes on a yellow legal pad even when we were on vacation and is always in bed by 9.

This sounds like a crotchety old man, right? The crazy thing is, my dad was this way at age 25 most likely. He had a wife, house, career, dog, and baby when he was my age. No wonder he started digging his grave so early. Even though my parents divorce had the usual effects on an already dysfunctional family, I think getting away from us actually did good for him. In the late 90's, he re-bought every single rock album he owned on vinyl when he was in high school. One summer he took my sister and I to Washington D.C. ( 3 days by car, stopping in various cities, torture ), and he made us listen to every Jethro Tull and Black Sabbath record ever made. A 13-year-old girl simply cannot appreciate. He started to laugh with my sister and I and started to really get to know us. I imagine that he may have felt that we were just mouths to feed before then, but I don't know for sure. As a graduation present he took us to Germany. That was the happiest I had ever seen him up to then; a land full of beer and bratwurst. He got drunk and started ruminating on college since that's where I was headed, and spoke of the good old days of keggers, football, and all-nighters. I told him how much I hated high school and was ready to get out, and he sympathised. We bonded thanks to Bavaria and her beer and riesling.

Maybe it was this bonding experience or just a wild hair, but that was the year my dad started making his own wine from the wild grapes that grow on his land. He fermented mustang grapes on old ozarka water jugs all year while he was at work in NJ. The few times I visited him when he came home to Texas one could hear an ominous "glug glug" of god knows what acid was being produced in the bottles in his shed. The first batch was a sugary syrup with probably the same alcohol content as moonshine. Pretty fucking awful. I tried some at Christmas and nearly threw up, and refused the bottles when he tried to pawn them off on me. They ended up in my suitcase just the same, and I shoved them to the back of my underwear drawer in the dorms. Turns out my freshman year roommate and I were desperate to get soused once in awhile and I'd say "drink at your own risk" and we'd be tipsy after one sip. By the 3rd batch he got the process down and makes some pretty tasty stuff. I get requests all the time from friends for some " Cox Farm Hooch".

I think everyone's dad loosens up after a few drinks, and more and more in social situations, my dad loses his stony exterior. Except...sometimes his tongue loosens too much and he gets out his shovel and starts digging.

For whatever stupid idiotic reason, my dad doesn't seem to like Indians. India Indians......because according to him he is 1/8th Cherokee Indian. Whatever ,Whitey! I thought it was an awful quirk when I first caught him going off at a family function, about the fresh-off-the-boat programmers with whom he works in Newark. But when I visited him the last summer and got bed bugs ( horrible, traumatizing ), his reasoning was " all those Hindu Bobs bring them in from 3rd World Countries". I just looked at him funny and then looked around the lobby of the hotel and did not see one person of Indian descent. This was the first of many times a character he has made up named " Hindu Bob".

I don't know any Hindus named Bob. Do you?

A lot of people in India are attracted to all the computer-y jobs here and the culture is much different than my dad's Texas-way of doin thangs so they butt heads, yada yada. Thus my dad has written off the entire region of South Asia. Oh! But he really likes Indian food. Nice. I'll never forget walking in on one of his conference calls with someone who sounded Indian while they were trying to troubleshoot something, and my dad actually ended the conversation by saying " just don't worry about it. go home and have some of your nice curry and come back tomorrow and work on it." The guy just said " Um, alright." Dad: " That was Hindu Bob, he had some issues."

I finally told my dad just last week that I know a few Indian people and they're awesome and smarter than I am, and are congenial and open. We were at a Mexican food restaurant at 11 AM, and my dad was sucking down his second top shelf margarita on the rocks. He then retracted his previous statements about ALL Indians being crazy and only included those he worked with. Because after all, your race is the sole factor that determines your personality and ability to work with people. I'm sure my father himself is just oozing with all the warmth that most computer science folk possess.

A part of me wonders if this is what he really thinks. In other ways my dad is so smart and well-read. He's Baptist on the outside but owns over 10 books on the Jewish faith. I wonder if he's just trying to be controversial because he doesn't have enough excitement. Maybe digging holes is fun for him just to see if he can get back out again.

Well, at least he makes good wine.