Subtle Disposition

The father, daughter dynamic can range from one of the most complicated, intricate or beautiful relationships that one could have. Some are lucky to have all three in a lifetime, some from birth and some so much later in life, if at all. My relationship with my father walks the tightrope between complicated and intricate, one could nickname it “delicate” even.

My dad has never been one to show affection or shout I love you’ s from the car window on my first days of school. I can’t say that I ever craved or wanted that either, until I saw how happy it made others. The wide, embarrassed smiles of girls my age always mesmerized me. I often wondered what they talked about on the car ride to school or if they had a favorite song that they listened to, or a handshake that bonded them. Our car rides weren’t filled with dialogue, but with gospel music and the loud sound of the wind rushing through all four windows when the AC didn’t work.

My father never gave much advice, was never much of a small talk guy, kind of just existed in the spaces that he was in. He lit up occasionally and those were the moments I found myself trying to capitalize on, bonding over the records he had procured as a teen in my grandparents basement, or his investment in watching sports and drinking Pepsi by the liter. Oddly enough I began loving those things for myself as a result of trying to impress Mr. Melancholy, even playing team sports that gave me anxiety and hive, but made him proud.

During my teenage years I was at war with my mother, who had decided to divorce my father, so most of my rage was reserved for her. It was hard enough to bond with a quiet dad who kept to himself before, and damn near impossible to bond with a quiet guy with a broken heart. My dad never seemed to be super protective of me, but in those years, I felt fiercely protective of him. I was so willing to fight his battles that I forgot to fight my own, and ventured quickly out of childhood into womanhood and the defender of what seemed to be my castle now.

The official age of adulthood eventually caught up with my experiences and now I felt ready to venture out on my own into the big city. My dream was to become a writer and by my calculations, I could become world famous in the time that it took me to travel to LA, at 22 years old, on a whim. I had lived on my own since I was 18 and worked 3 jobs simultaneously for the past few years, that was hard, I thought. Hollywood would literally be no match, she thought, with the sparkle of ignorance in her eyes.

I told my family what I was doing and the way that our relationships were set up, it was more of an FYI rather than a what do you think I should do, type of conversation. I was met with some mild objections, but nothing as cautionary or protective as I would have expected or wanted from my dad especially. But, my non-refundable flight was already booked, so what did it matter anyway.

Upon landing, I immediately realized how in over my head I was, but there was literally no way that I could let ANYONE and I mean ANYONE know that. I clumsily made it to my hotel, sheepishly ordered a turkey club from room service and sat in silence.

About 30 seconds before my sourdough bread was completely soaked in my tears, my phone rang. It was a number I hadn’t seen before, with a California area code. For some reason I thought that Gina Prince - Bythewood had retrieved my phone number from the countless messages I had sent her on twitter and was now offering me the chance of a lifetime, before I had even been in LA for 24 hours! I know, it's ridiculous!

I answered in the most grown up professional voice that I could muster through sniffles. As you’ve guessed it wasn’t Gina, but my “Uncle “Donald, who has been my dad’s best friend since they were teenagers. My Uncle Donald worked for the LAPD Bomb Squad, he arrested OJ, big shit ya know? I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid, and had never talked to him on the phone, but obviously he and my dad had stayed in touch. We exchanged intros and pleasantries and before I could ask why he was calling or how he knew that I was in his city, he answered. “Hey, Rhea! I hear you are in LA!” We chatted for a bit, before he told me that he was headed to my hotel to take me out to eat.

I offered to text him the address and he chuckled out that he didn’t need it, and that he was already five minutes away. My dad had given it to him a couple of weeks ago, along with the time my flight would arrive and a request to "keep an eye on me" , among other things. In that moment I felt that his brand of protection wasn't as loud and overbearing as mine was, but it existed as quietly and calmly as he kept himself. I hung up the phone, grabbed my purse, and wandered down the hall, with the same wide, embarrassed smile that I had seen from girls in my childhood. I guess this is the feeling that gave them that smile, and it was wonderful.