Today is 3 days until my dad's birthday.

After posting everything yesterday, I explored my new neighborhood for a while. Not that I hadn't seen it before, but I hadn't looked at it as deeply as I did yesterday. There is so much here locally that I may never need to leave the area, except perhaps for boredom's sake. Across the street is the 7-11, bordered by the Electric Lotus Thai restaurant, Psychobabble - indie coffee shop with free internet, where I intend to upload this post when I have a chance. House of Pies is good home cooking with a bakery on premises. My theatre only has 3 screens, but it's right next to the coolest bookstore in L.A., so I can find something to entertain me. The library is a mere block east, if I don't want to actually pay for books or internet. And, spread out throughout all of these standout stores are great restaurants, coffee shops, thrift stores, martial arts dojos, yoga studios, bars, my bank, etc., all within a 5 minute walk from my house. All this with the safety and comfort that any "hipster"-esque, trendy little area will promise you. I really am surprised that I was able to find the place that I'm in for the price that I have. If I haven't mentioned it, this was actually the first place that I looked at, before I even seriously thought I was going to move into L.A., and now I'm here. How strange.

More importantly than all that though is that my dad's birthday is this Friday, and I haven't found anything to buy the man yet. It's always really hard to shop for him. The reason for that is that it's always been fairly difficult to understand who dad is. When I was younger, he was always the disciplinarian. He would work all day while my sister and I gave mom hell. Not that we were bad kids, we just weren't the type to sit around and watch TV quietly while mom did the baking. So, when we eventually did something to get on her nerves, then continued to do it despite repeated warnings, it was always "Wait until you father gets home." And come home he always would and dispense the punishment that mom hadn't. (Usually, it seems, because she was just sick and tired of being the only one who was doing the punishing. Not that she wasn't entirely capable. I've seen the woman kick down two separate sets of locked doors in order to administer a spanking. I think she just had to be properly motivated.)

When I was about 4 was the time that Dad found God. Or God found Dad, depending on who is telling the story. I don't really remember too much before that time, but I remember afterwards how it all sort of came together to form an impression in my mind. The Seventh-Day Adventists are one of the stricter religions, and born again christians are some of the stricter devotees. For the next 12 years, this was the mental picture that I had of my father. A strict disciplinarian who lived his life to the letter of the law obeying an old testament god, a god with a lot of fairly petty rules that determined salvation. Dad was almost never a human being to me, an equal, an evolving entity. Sure, I saw cracks in the armor when something incredibly emotional happened but as a whole, he was a rock. Generally one I was pushing against. I, of course, never truly understood the born again aspect of his personality, the devotion to that way of life. I understand on a intellectual level why people behave that way, but it's taken many years for me to truly get it. On an emotional level, I refuse to try.

When I was 16 was when he gave up. Both my folks gave up trying to be my parents. Not that they decided to abandon me, but they got tired of being the enforcers. I don't blame them, not a bit. I don't think I would've given myself that long, but then again, I'm not a parent. Maybe kids are more important to them than they are to me. Call it a hunch. What happened is that, tired of trying to discipline us, tired of dealing with the cops, tired of making sure we hadn't snuck out in the middle of the night, tired of all the BS, they just gave up. One day he told me that whatever I wanted to do, I could do. He was leaving it up to me. There would be some basic rules in place if I wanted to stay in the house, but other than that, go to it. Drop out of high school if you want, sleep through class, smoke pot, whatever. It's your life, he said.

That's when I started to realize that he wasn't a "Dad", a rock, a statue, some sort of shallow stereotype of a human being from a sitcom somewhere, but that he was real. For the first time, I realized that this was a major change, that we had somehow crossed over a line. What was important was that it wasn't me that had changed, it was him. He had evolved, he'd given up control of my life. I had known my whole life that I had been changing. One can be fairly cognizant of the changes in one's own life without realizing that others are doing the same. This is the way it was. I didn't realize, hadn't understood that all the time while I thought he was operating the way that he had been hardwired he had actually been growing as well. That instead of a statue, he was just kind of winging it the same way I had been for most of my life. He just looked more in control doing it.

In the years since then and I now, he and I have gotten much closer. We've become friends almost. It started with our recognition that the other one was a human being. I don't know where that started for him, but I know where it came for me. I've watched him guide the rest of my sibling through the years that were so hard for me to get through, and I've realized how differently they've all been treated. Each child that runs the gauntlet of adolescent is a little bit better off on their way through. I feel like each of us are a little responsible for that. We've taught mom and dad how to deal with us. It's not like they should've known how to do it properly, or how to be parents at all, really, but we expected them to nonetheless. I know that's not fair, but that's the way that I was.

I realize now though that every time I talk to dad, I learn more about him. Maybe, I teach him something new, help him evolve a little bit more, or maybe he does the same for me. In every interaction though, we teach the other one a little bit more about ourselves and in doing so, become better friends. When I say that I don't know what to get him for his birthday, I'm not sure if that's because he's a hard person to shop for, or if it's because I don't really know him well enough. I'd like to think that the man needs more hobbies, works too hard and doesn't play hard enough to require toys. I'd like to think that it's his lack of interests outside of work that make it hard for me to find something perfect for him. I'm pretty sure that it's his obsession with the stationary bike, broccoli, and internal medicine that make him hard to shop for. I think I know him well enough to realize that he's just a hard person to buy a gift for. And that's alright, I'm sure I'll find something for him that he'll like.