Remember when we were little and I used to want to do everything that Megan did? Well, some things never change. Megan started a blog where she writes memories about you, to you. I asked her to add me so I can write to you too. This is my first post.
Losing you hasn't been easy, Dad. It just doesn't seem real, and I'm not going to lie, I'm a bit of a mess. So yesterday, in an effort to start to pull myself back together both emotionally and physically, I signed up for a month unlimited at a new fancy bar class in the neighborhood. I don't have to explain to you how much of a massive impact exercise can have on your mood, I know you knew that well. When I walked into the exercise room today I was hit by a memory of something that happened about 12 years ago.
You were working out with a trainer at the time, James. James at the gym in St. James. And you loved James. I mean really, really loved him. You talked about him endlessly - he was in his early twenties, and you were so impressed with his level of maturity and kindness and intelligence. It was one of those topics, Dad, that you just went on and on about. That happened a lot with you and whatever your current exercise obsession was at the time - I absolutely do this too. I always loved how you would indulge me in my exercise talk and ask me questions and share stories of your own endeavors. But, James was a new twist on the exercise obsession.
So, I'd heard about James. And heard about him some more. I never thought much of it until one day I took the train out to Port Jeff and you volunteered to pick me up at the station. When I got there you said, let's stop off for a drink downtown before we head home. This was out of the ordinary, to say the least. This had never happened, it simply wasn't something we did. Of course, I was thrilled. One on one time with you was a special treat, and it felt so cool that you thought of me as enough of an adult (I was 23, 24?) to stop off and have a drink at a bar.
The details are fuzzy, so I can't remember when or how you told me exactly, but I know you were casual - oddly casual - about the fact that James was actually meeting us at the bar as well. James your trainer? Yes, James from St. James. Oh, okay, I thought, this is odd. So it wasn't an impromptu decision, it had been planned, and why on earth were we meeting your trainer at the bar?
Oh, Dad, I wish I could tell you how amazingly and awesomely awkward this whole situation was! James was nice, but we had nothing in common. He lived on Long Island and was a personal trainer, I was a big city girl (your term) working in the movie business. I was snobby and probably didn't even consider him as someone I would date. (How much I thought back on this early elitism ten years later, when I developed a crush on my own trainer!).
It wasn't until we got back to the house that I realized you hadn't told mom about your plan. This just made it even better, more hilarious. It was your secret plan. When I told Mom where we had been, and she said "oh my god, I hope he isn't trying to set you up with his trainer!"
It wasn't until that point that it even occurred to me that that could have been your intention. It was the most out of character behavior you'd ever displayed to me. You did not set people up. You particularly did not set up your daughters. You had a laissez faire approach towards my personal life, towards everyone's personal lives as far as I know. You certainly weren't one of those fathers who acted over-protective and didn't want us to date. You simply didn't really want to know about it if we were dating. I think you meticulously avoided the subject.
Once, when I was headed to Europe for the semester in college, you told me to go fall in love and have romantic affairs while I was there. That may have been the only time (also wildly out of character) the subject was really broached by you. Whenever I did tell you I was dating someone, the conversation would last no more than 6 seconds after that.
So, Dad, it still cracks me up to no end that you tried to secretly set me up with James the trainer. What was your plan, anyway? Because I know with absolute certainty that you would not have told James you were trying to set us up either. So, did you just hope we would somehow find our way back together after the initial meeting? I don't know, Dad, but really even writing about this now I am laughing to myself. I love that you did this, I absolutely adore this memory.
Losing you hasn't been easy, Dad. It just doesn't seem real, and I'm not going to lie, I'm a bit of a mess. So yesterday, in an effort to start to pull myself back together both emotionally and physically, I signed up for a month unlimited at a new fancy bar class in the neighborhood. I don't have to explain to you how much of a massive impact exercise can have on your mood, I know you knew that well. When I walked into the exercise room today I was hit by a memory of something that happened about 12 years ago.
You were working out with a trainer at the time, James. James at the gym in St. James. And you loved James. I mean really, really loved him. You talked about him endlessly - he was in his early twenties, and you were so impressed with his level of maturity and kindness and intelligence. It was one of those topics, Dad, that you just went on and on about. That happened a lot with you and whatever your current exercise obsession was at the time - I absolutely do this too. I always loved how you would indulge me in my exercise talk and ask me questions and share stories of your own endeavors. But, James was a new twist on the exercise obsession.
So, I'd heard about James. And heard about him some more. I never thought much of it until one day I took the train out to Port Jeff and you volunteered to pick me up at the station. When I got there you said, let's stop off for a drink downtown before we head home. This was out of the ordinary, to say the least. This had never happened, it simply wasn't something we did. Of course, I was thrilled. One on one time with you was a special treat, and it felt so cool that you thought of me as enough of an adult (I was 23, 24?) to stop off and have a drink at a bar.
The details are fuzzy, so I can't remember when or how you told me exactly, but I know you were casual - oddly casual - about the fact that James was actually meeting us at the bar as well. James your trainer? Yes, James from St. James. Oh, okay, I thought, this is odd. So it wasn't an impromptu decision, it had been planned, and why on earth were we meeting your trainer at the bar?
Love,
Amy
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