working father

20 Jun

So, Father’s Day.

I haven’t said much about my father yet, and I really should.  He is what I will call an “interesting individual”, and I don’t mean that in a negative way

It’s…huh.  I’ll explain him this way.

One day in the car, Tess, Laura and I were talking about our father’s careers.  When they asked me about my dad’s job, I had a bit of trouble explaining it properly.  “He has his fingers in many pies,” I said, “Many strange and possibly illegal pies, only they’re probably not technically illegal because Dad Has These Things Figured Out.”  Tess raised her eyebrows at me and raised the supposition that my father was involved in the mob.  This was not a truly wild accusation.  It had some foundation in Sneaky Doings and Shady Fixin’s, but again, nothing illegal because Dad plays legal definition like a game of Scrabble.

In attempt to clarify my father’s projects, I reeled off his Jack-Of-All-Trades style occupations.  Consultant.  Engineer.  Landlord.  Something about getting a guy out of Ukraine.  He taught for awhile.  He’s played accountant and lawyer.  He did something with trucks.  Tess stopped me there.

“What with trucks exactly?” she asked.

“Hauling bodies,” Laura said coolly.  I pressed my lips together.

“It’s…okay, I don’t really know what the deal is with the trucks exactly.  He owns them but he doesn’t ship his own stuff?  Or maybe he does.  He has a lot of blueprints and things.”

Laura and Tess gave each other knowing looks.

“I am calling him right now,” I said, “and I’m figuring this out.  It is definitely not illegal, or involved in the mob.”

I pulled out my cellphone and dialed Dad’s number.  He picked up the phone after one ring.  It’s almost always after one ring. Here’s the conversation as heard by Laura and Tess.

“Hey, Dad.  I have a quick question for you.  ‘Kay.  What’s your thing with the trucks?  Your trucks.  The ones you own.  Oh?  Yeah.  I remember.  Doesn’t Uncle Mike drive one?  What about the other one?  No, I don’t know that guy.  I mean, maybe I remember.  Was that the one we had lunch with at the Flying J?  Oh.  Well, what’d he do with the truck once he took it?  Were you upset?  Ah.  Ah.  Yeah.  Oh.  How’d the fire start?  Yeah.  Just like that, huh?  Did he live?  Well, that’s good.  You made it sound like he died.  Ha!  Hahahaha!  Hehe, yeah, that’s funny!  The timing is pretty hilarious.  Taught him, huh?  So you have two now?  Or one?  Ah.  Well, Uncle Mike is a good guy.  Yeah.  Yeah.  No, I was just wondering.  Tess and Laura and I were talking about jobs and I mentioned your truck thing, and I didn’t know exactly what you hauled in those trucks.  Ah.  Cargo?  Yeah.  Okay, well, I gotta…I gotta…Dad.  I gotta go, Dad.  Yeah.  I gotta go.  Love you.  Bye.”

I clicked my phone shut and turned to Laura and Tess.

“He owns some trucks,” I said, “and he gets paid to haul cargo.”

And that’s the best way to explain my dad’s career.


Posted by on June 20, 2009 in Life


Tags: , ,

2 responses to “working father

  1. Brittney

    June 21, 2009 at 7:38 am

    Your Dad cracks me up! He has so many interesting stories and such, I’ll forever associate air embolism with him, after one of our conversations.

    • saturdayjane

      June 21, 2009 at 11:40 am


      He tends to have these interactions with people, and they’re always about things I never even knew he knew about. A friend will be like, “Yeah, me and your dad just talked for an hour about the intricacies of the caterpillar life cycle.”


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