I hung out with my dad yesterday. We drove up a mountain. We tried to fly a kite but couldn’t find any wind. We talked about his dad, who we lost a few years ago.
The day after his dad’s passing we flew kites too. My dad loves kites, owns a bunch of them. When his hands are busy and his eyes are on the sky he gets contemplative, and we talk about ideas rather than things. I like being around for that.
It’s rare that I get to hang out with my parents anymore. Just hang out. They live, after all, in Western Australia and I in Northern California. Go and look at the length of that flight if you want to know why I don’t go back for birthdays and long weekends. When I do fly back it’s usually for a wedding, or a funeral. While I’m inevitably taking vacation for those trips, my family and friends aren’t. They have stuff to do. Jobs to do.
But this week, my parents and I have nothing to do. We’re in Hawaii. They traveled all this way for an old friend’s 60th birthday, and I made the comparatively short trip over to see them. We hang out. We drink beer. And though the wind wasn’t there for my dad and me yesterday, the kite’s in the trunk.