Day 97

The first dozen times or so that I got something published and I told Dad, he responded, “Very nice. Did you get paid?” Time and again, I explained writing is a labor of love. You write and publish in online and print journals in hopes that someday someone will notice you and want to publish something more lengthy — a novel or memoir. Some people get lucky. Some don’t. I told him that repeatedly, but still he asked about payment, until I asked him not to. I wanted to focus on being happy that someone selected my work out of the slush pile. I didn’t want to be weighted down by depression, sad that sometimes it seemed I worked a full time job but got paid nothing. Today, for the first time ever (I’m not counting book reviews), I got paid for my work. I mean it’s not going to change my over all fortune. Not even a little. There won’t be any big splurges. It was a small fee, but it was something. Finally, I could happily answer the question I asked Dad to stop asking, but he wasn’t here to ask it. So I called my spouse, and started to cry, because I wanted to be telling Dad. I wanted to share the good news with him. I wanted him to know. But he won’t ever know anything again.

It’s the Saturday before Father’s Day. Mattituck is supposed to be hosting the Strawberry Festival. Dad’s supposed to be taking us. We missed Father’s Day last year. No, we didn’t miss it, Dad had other plans. It fell early and when Dad booked his trip to Egypt, he didn’t realize that he’d be flying home the day before Father’s Day. When I told him, he said, “There’s always next year. We’ll do the Strawberry Festival again, then.” No, there isn’t always next year. The virus proved that. Last year was Dad’s last Father’s Day and we didn’t spend it with him. 

It was bad enough that we couldn’t see Dad on Father’s Day, but he felt terrible when he found out my son would be testing for his black belt at the same time he’d be flying home across the Atlantic. He would have liked to have been there, watching, cheering him on, going out to celebrate afterwards. But the cruise had been booked way before we knew my son would be testing. Dad promised my son he’d be there when he tested for second degree. And I’m sure he’d have kept that promise, if he had lived.

120,000! That is current the death count. 120,000!  And our insensitive, rude, nasty president is having a campaign rally in Tulsa. The rally is set to be indoors, there will be no social distancing, and masks will be completely optional. Trump himself is refusing to set a good example by wearing one. The entire event is in violation of the CDC guidelines. And what’s worse, his idiot supports are going to show up, probably without masks, and they are going to spread the virus. Some may catch it. Some may die. But what really sucks is that they are going to leave the rally carrying the infection. Then they will spread it to others who very well may not survive. More people are going to die because of Trump. He’s already responsible for 120,000 deaths (which, by the way, has surpassed the American death toll of World War I). How many more people does he intend to kill? Seriously, if you go to these rallies where the CDC has warned the spread is inevitable and you end up infecting someone else who dies, you are personally responsible for their death. But Trump and his supports don’t give a shit about other people. Freedom to them is the right to harm whomever they please.

My son is exceptionally mopey this morning. He’s been that way since last night when he came to me asking for hugs, which is out of character for my tween. This morning when he woke up, he called me said he didn’t want to get up, “I just want to cuddle.” I can guess he’s still sad about his grandfather, but I can’t get him to talk about it. Every time I try, he shuts me down.

I spoke to Mom this morning. My brother still has not arrived in New York. I’m not sure why. All I could get out of Mom was that he ran into a storm yesterday and decided to stop. I guess I didn’t need to rush her home on Thursday.

We had a wonderful time at the Treasure Beach today. My son didn’t even bother to look for pirate treasure. He even left his shovel behind. Instead, when we swam across the inlet he set out to discover what life he could find. The small periwinkles captured his attention. Plucking them out of the water, he examined them, watching how they moved, how they reacted. He put one on its back in a clamshell filled with water, to see if could flip itself over. It did. So he tossed it back into the water and picked up another one, repeating the process. When I questioned why he was doing it again, he explained, “It’s the scientific process. Anything can happen once. So you need to do the experiment several times and only if it turns out the same way can you know something is right.” 

My son was very proud of himself when he kicked a minnow out of the water for the first time. “I don’t need you any more,” he told me. “I can do it myself now.” I was thrilled, genuinely excited for him, but also a tad bit sad. He doesn’t need me anymore. But still I had fun watching him explore the beach. He kicked a total of four minnows out of the water, returning each one after he caught it flapping around on the sand. We took turns sitting on the alligator and pushing each other back and forth across the inlet. Half-way across the first time, as I kicked and he held on, he turned toward me and said, “It’s embarrassing to be with my mother. But you are fun.” I laughed. When there are no other kids to play with, there’s always me — a kid who has never really been able to grow up, despite the white hair.

Trump had many empty seats at his rally. With 120,000 dead from Covid-19 he should have opted for a seance instead. Then he could have packed the venue. Ah…the dead and Trump, what would they do? I wish I could draw. That would be a fun one to depict. While talking to his supporters, Trump had the audacity to joke about slowing down the rate of testing. If you don’t test, your numbers won’t be so high. What a freaking idiot? I guess cancer will disappear also if doctors stopped testing for it. I marvel that anyone could support him. 

This evening, my son wanted to watch a movie. He picked Malibu rescue, a Netflix original. It was stupid, but funny in parts and it was definitely schmaltzy. Dad would have enjoyed it.

My brother did eventually arrive safely in Queens.