Sunday Phone Calls
Phone calls with my mother were more problematic: so many boring complaints. But I liked it when we talked about the characters in our family, their meshuggener histories, her sharp acerbic assessments.
Now that they’re dead, I sometimes have a funny feeling on a Sunday morning: “It would be nice to talk to Dad on the phone today.” Yesterday morning I even caught myself thinking in the old half-annoyed way, “Maybe Mom will call this morning.”
Sometimes I imagine my kids, in the future, thinking the same thing about me.
While I’m writing this, Agent 95 zips into my study and points a finger at me: “It’s my archnemesis, Dadman!”
He’s already learned what I never did: to take it comically.