It was Thursday morning and the Homewood Suites free
breakfast buffet in Charlottesville, Virginia was hopping. Somehow, someway, even
on day five of our U.S. history tour, the self-serve waffle-maker hadn’t lost
its luster.
Three of us were positioned near the center of the newly
renovated dining area at a high-top table; me with my laptop and my young sons on
either side of me with their By the Great
Horn Spoon tests (optimal test taking environment - I’m sure this is exactly what
their teachers had in mind when I asked them to sign the independent study form
and compile their assignments for the week). My parents were seated at a table
directly behind the boys and me, and my husband was seated alone with his laptop in the furthermost corner of the dining room.
“Togetherness” without all the pressure of being
“together”.
I caught eyes, for the fourth time, with a woman who had
almost settled her four children into the seats of a nearby table. They looked
like they ranged in age from not-yet-one to six. Her husband was tending to the
youngest.
Good man.
“Do you home school?” She asked me as she took her own seat.
“No,” I smiled back. “We’re doing home study for the week
because we’re traveling,” I told her. “I don’t think I could handle doing it
full time.”
“I think that every single day.” Twenty-first century,
adult Laura Ingalls Wilder gave me a small smile as she turned her
attention toward her table.
I smiled a “pretend-knowing-smile” at her. Yes, I am a mom –
like her. But of two – not four. And my two are the same age. And they started
pre-school, and were delivered there by our nanny, at age three.
My eyes returned to my laptop screen but my mind continued
to wander.
We could be friends,
Laura and I. She’s self-deprecating, one of my very favorite qualities in a
person. I could wear long denim skirts like her. She probably doesn’t drink but
we could just hang out during the day, until around four on Fridays.
I wonder what her husband does. Maybe he’s in
the military. His hair is short.
I bet they pray all
the time. I wonder what they pray for?
Peace?
More babies?
I glanced back over at my new best friend. She was staring out
the window with a far-away look in her eyes.
Maybe not more babies.
“Lizzie?”
“Lizzie, are you listening to this?”
My six and half foot, 73 year-old father was now standing right
behind me, bellowing.
From the very beginning of time, Dick Bell has been loud. And over time, he has become increasingly deaf. His
left ear is completely dead and his right ear is partially dead, though he does
wear a hearing aid in that ear that may or may not be running on live
batteries. He also has a condition that my mother calls “selective hearing”. All of this deafness has equated to more loudness.
I didn’t immediately look up from my laptop.
Two can play at this game.
“Lizzie?”
"Boo-boo, I'm supposed to be the deaf one."
"Lizzie?"
“Boo-boo, are you watching this?”
He kept getting louder. I looked over at Nick and we shared a
smile.
I then looked up at the giant monitor mounted high above the
fireplace. Whoever hung it was instructed to take full advantage of the vaulted
ceilings. I saw what my father so desperately needed my attention for: a
Today Show concert. The sound was low but Closed Captioning was on. I didn’t
recognize the group.
“Boo-boo, do you know them?”
“No, Dad. I have no idea who they are.” I did feel a little
old and out-of-it saying the words but it was what it was.
Now Vince and Nick’s eyes were locked on the screen.
“Look at his hair. What’s up with his hair, mommy?” Vince
asked.
“He’s an artist. Get back to your test.”
I clicked open an email from my intern.
“YOUR ARM BE SWEAT-ING…” My dad’s voice boomed from behind
me.
What the fuck?
“AND YOU DE-CEPT ME, BA-BY?”
He may as well have been standing on a soap box with a
freaking bullhorn.
I looked up. My father was reading the Closed Caption text
at the bottom of the monitor aloud, presumably to all Homewood Suites guests
currently taking advantage of the free breakfast buffet.
I turned around and grabbed his arm. I looked up at him
from my stool.
“Dad, what are you doing? Stop… Please… Be quiet. You’re
soooo looouuud.” I tried to whisper-yell to get him to bring
it down a few decibels…like that has ever worked…with him or my children.
“That’s not even a word,” Dick Bell continued. "'DE-CEPT' is
not a word, Vince and Nick.”
Vince and Nick were now howling with laughter which meant my
Dad had an audience and I was completely wasting my breath.
“YOUR ARM BE SWEAT-ING AND YOU DE-CEPT ME, BA-BY? What does
that even mean?” Dick Bell directed his question to no one in particular as he
stood, completely dumbfounded, in the center of the dining room.
I looked past my dad at my mom whose eyes didn’t leave her
crossword puzzle.
I looked around the room, locking eyes with several hotel
guests. I was not met with a single “knowing smile” or even a “pretend knowing
smile”.
Finally, I turned around and looked over at Laura who was
already looking at me. I don’t know if hers was a look of confusion or
disappointment but I did know then that it was highly unlikely that we would one day be friends.
***
The below is a link to the performance my father so enjoyed.
The band is called The Weeknd. No, that is not a typo. I did not drop that last
“e”. They are apparently deeply committed to both song-making and
wordsmith-ing. They were performing their hit song Earned It from the 50 Shades
of Grey soundtrack to promote the film’s DVD release.
And in case you don’t believe me:
