Day 180

Nineteen years ago, I woke up in my girlfriend’s dorm room on third avenue in Manhattan. As we were leaving the the building — sometime around nine — we noticed a crowd gathered around the security desk. We pushed forward — New Yorkers are good when it comes to finding space where there isn’t any — and our eyes fell on the television. And that’s when we first saw it, smoke coming out of the tower. “What happened?” My girlfriend asked the guard, but he just shrugged. “A plane, but don’t ask me why.”

My girlfriend went off to class. I went home to my parents’ house in Queens. Dad had a meeting that morning in Westchester so he wasn’t in the city. When I got home, I sat down on the couch, eyes on the television and I didn’t move for the rest of the day. Later, Dad called to say that a colleague, a man from Mexico, was stranded and couldn’t get home. He told my mother he invited him to stay with us. Feeling uncomfortable around strangers — as I always do — I returned to my girlfriend’s place before they arrived. 

It wasn’t until the following day that my Dad apologized to me. He got so caught up in the attacks he had forgotten to wish me a Happy Birthday! Even when I had lived in Korea, even when I had been traveling in India, I spoke to my Dad on my birthday. But not that year. It was the only year he missed my birthday, the only year I didn’t get to hear his voice — until today.

Every one tells me the firsts are the hardest, and this was my first birthday without Dad. Lately, the last few years, my birthdays have been terrible. It’s the start of a new school year, a clear reminder that I’ve gone no where and done nothing with my life. Another year lost, another year older, and absolutely nothing to show for it. But at least in prior years my family was intact. This year, I didn’t even have that.

After breakfast, I took my son to the beach. I spread his books out on the picnic table and we got to work on math. Yesterday I had a breakdown over math. They’ve watered it down so much that I don’t understand it. What was simple, has become complicated. And my son hates breaking things down. He just wants to dive in and solve the problems, but that’s not good enough any more. The mental math has me feeling rather mental. My spouse, the math teacher, calmed me down, “No one is going to learn anything this year. All the schools are messed up and the teachers overworked. Take it easy. You’re doing fine.” We start with math because it’s the least fun. Today, however, went so much better than yesterday My son picked up base ten exponents quickly. 

While we worked a hornet harassed my son. He jumped from the table squealing and flapping his hands multiple times. “Relax,” I told him. “It’ll leave you alone if you don’t call attention to yourself.” HA! As if to prove me wrong and call me a liar, Mother Nature sent the hornet after me. He stung my finger before I even realized he was there. The pain was instantaneous. My finger swelled. It turned red and the heat coming from my skin felt like a radiator. I bit my lip, holding in a howl. The last thing I needed was for my son to laugh at me or tell me, “I told you so.” No, my day wasn’t sad enough, the freaking hornet had to go and make it worse.

From Math we moved onto Social Studies. Yesterday we covered landforms in the US. Today, we had to cover bodies of water. Turning the page to the section on the Great Lakes, my son rolled his eyes and sighed, “Really, you’re going to make me read this. I already lived it. What more is there to learn.” Lots, is what I wanted to say, but I’m glad I didn’t. It’s only a fifth grade textbook and he was right, there was nothing new. He learned it all on the road, in his swimsuit diving in one lake after another. From lakes we moved onto Rivers, but the Mississippi also offered nothing knew. He learned about that last year when he read Huck Finn. And when the text asked him to define a bay, inlet, and sound, well, he had the Mattituck geography to answer that question.

During reading he was super excited to point out that Tolkien must have read Homer, because the attack on one of the trolls was way too similar to Odysseus’s attack on the cyclops. I love when he makes connections. But I need to work with him on developing his answers to questions. Responding verbally, his answers are far more thorough than when he responds with a pencil. 

We came home for lunch, and while my son did his homework, I went out to run a few errands. When I came back, we decided to go back to the beach for a swim. The air was cold but the water was warm. We had fun splashing around in the water. “Someday,” my son said, “I want to go swimming on my birthday. And I want it to be in the United States.” Unless he travels down to Florida, it’ll be a chilly dip.

Back at home, I nearly choked a the landscaping crew. My neighbor’s landscapers seemed to think it was okay to park their truck in my parent’s driveway and leave their gear on my parent’s grass. They left me no where to park and I flew out of my car in a rage. They must have thought I was crazy. Either they didn’t understand English or they pretended not to, but after enough screaming and pointing one of them eventually got off the lawnmower and moved the truck. How dare they. Just because my mom doesn’t live here full time doesn’t mean the neighbors have the right to take advantage of her. As if tossing the broken branches on Mom’s property wasn’t enough. 

In the house, as I put my keys on my dresser, I noticed a puddle flowing from my closet. Stepping closer, I saw that my slippers were drenched and ruined, as were a pair of shoes I’ve had since High School. I had no idea where the water came from, until I saw the bag of chemicals that pulls moisture from the air. This morning it had been nearly full. Somehow, it sprang a leak. I swear, Daddy is haunting the house. But he could have chosen another day, a day that wasn’t my birthday to make a mess I needed to clean up.

Since I was sad and missing Dad, my son went online to look at tasty videos. He found a recipe he thought I’d like — teriyaki salmon with broccoli and carrots — and made me dinner. That was one of the sweetest things he’s ever done, and it came out really good. I very much enjoyed it.

For dessert we had an ice cream cake — the only cake I really like. But when I went to the store to pick it up I cried because it was supposed to be Dad buying me the cake. Anyway, my son covered the cake in candles — “You’re old, Mama. You need lots of candles.” — and three sparklers, took it outside, and sang Happy Birthday! I missed Dad — 150 day and sometimes it still feels like yesterday — but my son really did try hard to make it a special day.