Spring rolls!
I learned about spring rolls about twenty-five years ago one sunny day with my father. He picked me up for lunch. I don't know why it was only my dad and me. Usually my mom would be there too, but that day we two were alone. We drove up Federal Street choosing a place to have lunch and settled on a small hole-in-the-wall with a giant Amazonian targeting fish in an aquarium just inches larger than the fish.
Maybe it was a foot larger, alright? Maybe two feet larger. Maybe three feet larger, look, the fish was large and it appeared to have outgrown the tank.
I worried about the fish.
Does the fish ever get a chance to aim its squirt at a bug?
No?
Talent squandered.
We sat at a table together and ordered these spring rolls. We assembled them ourselves at the table. At that time I was ill and not expected to survive. I didn't eat then either. I was way underweight. Way underweight. Way way underweight. This situation was common. My dad driving, me passenger. Just messing around. During this period my dad was an emotional wreck, but Air Force dads are strong, he never let vulnerability show, rather, anger was the modality availed. Not this day.
I loved the spring rolls. What a great idea. I had never seen the stiff rice paper circles. The whole thing was a trip. I loved being with my dad like two friends except better because he drives and he buys everything and I could not keep off the spring rolls. I placed a second order. My dad was satisfied to sit there and watch me eat it.
He talked away, blabbity blabbity blabbity and I scarfed the spring rolls that seemed like nothing.
My stomach seemed a vast empty crevasse. I ate the entire second order with no apparent physical effect. I simply loved all the vegetables and the little shrimp sliced in half, and the peanut butter sauce and the other sauce are both outstanding. I placed a third order.
"Sorry Dad. I'm hungry."
He roared. He pushed back his chair and he howled. He made the strangest animal noise. By then we were alone in the restaurant and the whole place seemed like ours. I thought he was going to cry. But he laughed. He laugh-cried. It was remarkable. Tears. And laughter. Smiles and red face. Pain and delight. Joy. My dad showed extreme joy. He choked. "I'm just ..."
"I'm just ... happy ... to see you eating."
Now is that love or what?
"Me too. I don't know what happened. I want to get more of these to take home."
So now whenever I have spring rolls I must recall this intimate episode with my father and acknowledge this is how he acted his love for us. Just one amazing way. All of us. I was but one of five, and each of our situations was unique. He came through this way not just for me, but for all of us. What a stud.
He didn't know how studly that was. Having five kids and keeping with it throughout until his own death.
He didn't know how successful he was. Raising a family.
He was uncertain about his relationship with God and he told me this. He was uncertain how he performed as a father. I was ill on his sofa. He sat on an adjoining sofa and talked to me. He felt, with God as example as father, he failed living up to the example. At this point in time I was talking to him about not being afraid, about actually being eager for an ending in this place and I knew that he was finally accepting the whole thing, at least he was accepting my acceptance of it, when he asked me to put in a good word for him to God when I meet Him.
My dad wanted me to speak well of him to God when I died. In his cosmology, my dad assumed that I'd go to heaven. He assumed that I would fare better in judgement than he would. He assumed I would meet God and he wanted me to say to God, "Hey God, remember my dad is great."
He was worried.
This alarmed me.
I wanted my dad to feel great. About his job as a dad.
I sat up. Put my feet on the floor. Pushed away the coverings. Looked at him.
Right here. We've got a bit of role-reversal going on. You might not believe this, it is odd, but my dad actually looked up to me in certain ways.
"You've got nothing to worry about.
And I've got nothing to tell God that He doesn't already know about you.
You are set brilliantly. You already did a brilliant job so well here on earth. Your job is done and you did it very well. You have nothing to be ashamed about. Nothing to be apprehensive about. No debilitating moral failure. Everything that you hold against yourself is nothing to God balanced with all the good that you are to Him. To God, you are are a treasure. You are His blessing. You are God's blessing to me, certainly, you are God's blessing to God."
What an odd way to talk to my dad. But that's what we did. That's how this whole thing life/death illness brought us together. Not just my dad, but my whole family. The whole thing really was a tremendous emotional trial for all of us. Still is, actually, but now we are used to it, and both parents have died. My four brothers and sisters are all hardcore. This series of events caused us to realize that we are all very tight.
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