Fleur de Lys
As it turns out, my dad is alright.
He called me this morning around 8:30 and without looking at the phone I knew it was him - or a wrong number. No one else ever calls that early (especially on a Saturday), but my dad is a firm believer in rising early. That is, EVERYONE rising early. Luckily, he doesn't call often...birthdays, Christmas and to announce an upcoming visit from Port-au-Prince, where he moved after retiring from his dental practice in New York several years ago.
He was just in town and today is no holiday, so I was certain someone had died. I know by now that an early morning call from Haiti on an unremarkable day usually means someone is dead or dying...cue the screaming and crying, followed by the mad dash for a bereavement fare on American Airlines.
But it wasn't a death call. He was calling to say hello. And to see how I was doing. And to tell me that he was starting his new job as a professor at the Faculté d'Odontologie, the same dental school he attended in the 60's.
In the spirit of making conversation, I asked if he had already picked out his suit and tie for his first day. Daddy is the most dapper man I know, so our limited conversations tend to be sartorial in nature. This is the man who was late to pick me up from school one day in the 4th grade because "Macy's had a shoe sale and I couldn't resist." He had purchased four new pairs and taking them out of their boxes, told me which of his suits he planned to wear with each.
Of course he had this outfit prepared for his first day at the Faculté, right down to the perfect tie. He paused for a moment before asking if I remembered getting him a tie on one of my trips to Europe in high school. "With the Fleur de Lys," we both said - a first for us being in sync.
I remember everything about that tie: It was navy blue with a small gold Fleur de Lys pattern. I bought it on the last day of a two-week exchange trip to Paris when I was in the 10th grade. It was November and I hadn't seen my dad all year. My mom was experimenting to see if he would ever reach out to us if we didn't initiate contact. He had not. But because everyone else was buying ties for their dads and because I still had a lot of Francs leftover at the end of the trip, I bought the tie. I spent 20 minutes combing through tacky prints of croissants and Eiffel Towers before finding the classic Fleur de Lys. It was a symbol of French royalty (something we had all just learned while visiting the château de Versailles) which made it the perfect tie for Dapper Daddy. I don't remember actually giving him the tie, just the agony over choosing the right one even though I wasn't sure he would even care.
Things are better between us now. When he visits we are cordial and go out to early dinners and the occasional sporting event (earlier this year we all sat court side at a Nets game during the playoffs, posing as the perfect fun-loving family for all of ESPN nation to see), but time isn't exactly the miracle healer that we all want it to be. Last month when he was in town, I got tickets to see Michael Buble thinking it would be a great "daddy and me" activity, but when I asked him to accompany me, he said he wasn't interested. Not busy, or tired, or anything excusable, just plain not interested. He meant that he wasn't interested in Michael Buble, but there was no convincing me that the disinterest didn't include me. I started to slip into my old habit of resenting him, but my sister reminded me, "that's just how Daddy is." He's honest to a tee. Just like when he told her she was getting fat. Besides, he's an old man and we have to be nice to him now.
So I skipped the concert. And maybe I cried about it a little. That's just how Daddy is.
But then he called this morning. And no one had died. And it wasn't my birthday. And it wasn't a holiday either. And he remembered the tie I gave him. And all these years later, he was planning to wear it on his first day as a professor.
So I guess everything is alright... As it turns out, my dad is alright.