My dad and I have always shared similar opinions on just about everything. We love the same Billy Joel songs. We like to eat at the same restaurants. We‘re intrigued by the same journalists and inspired by the same writers. We share a love of music and a lack of rhythm. And we laugh at the same bizarre jokes. We’ve even come to an agreement that there are two types of people in the world: people who like Family Guy (him) and people who like South Park (me). So even when we disagree, we somehow manage to still agree.
Lately, the chemo and other cancer meds have changed him. And I can only assume the sadness and stress have changed me too. Our similarities seem to dwindle and things we agree on are fewer and farther between. Recently, it seems that stubbornness is all we share. We disagree on big stuff, like what to write and how to write it. And we disagree on the littlest things, like the best route to take to the store.
Then, last Wednesday we came to an easy agreement to have lunch at our favorite Italian restaurant. Over a couple plates of spaghetti, I made a South Park reference (which you would’ve thought brilliant and hilarious if I could remember it). Without skipping a beat or looking up from his noodles, my dad said “Man, Family Guy is just so much better than South Park.” And on the drive home, by way of some divine signal, Billy Joel started playing on the radio, and we both sang along at the top of our lungs…
You may be right
I may be crazy
Oh, but it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for
It’s too late to fight
It’s too late to change me
You may be wrong for all I know
But you may be right
So, there amidst all the disparity, I learned that in a world of change, transformation and adjustment, some of the best things stay the same. I learned that no cancer, chemo or any other crap could ever break the fundamental bonds my dad and I share (as silly as they may seem).
There on that beautiful, imperfect Wednesday, a father and daughter found the lunatic they’d each been looking for – in one another.