Dear Me and You, Sick Again?!

Dear Me and You, 

As usual, in life and  in parenthood— and in these motherfucking virus-days— flexibility and acceptance are paramount to appreciating the moments. We had plans to frolic in the snow with some friends, which was more for me than the kids. But a case of pneumonia, an ear infection, and a recent diagnosis of asthma shut that shit down. 

So it goes.  (Always a favorite line of mine from Vonnegut). 

Bren and I sat a bit slumped, brainstorming what we could do to lift our spirits and enjoy the days together. My mom offered up her house, in Huntington Beach, and the choice was made— head to my hometown for a couple nights. 

We did some regular things. We always enjoy grabbing a pour or two at Riip Brewing Company. We then rented one of those car-bikes and pedaled up and down the boardwalk— something I’ve never done before. It’s a neat thing to act like a tourist in your hometown. We ended our day at a staple of my youth, Mario’s restaurant. 

As we were walking in, I couldn’t stop myself from sharing a story (a story I’m sure Bren has heard before but listens again) about the time we ditched school to get Mario’s and our high school security drove over in their golf carts to do a sweep of the restaurant, busting all of us delinquents. 

In that same shopping center is the shop where I bought my first beach cruiser, it was a Schwin. And now I remember another story… I parked my bike near the pier and my friend and I went bar-hopping, eventually having enough and preparing to ride back home we walked back to our bikes. Unfortunately, my bike seat had been stolen. I either rode home standing or my friend rode home and got her SUV. I think both things are true because my seat had been stolen more than once. 

Anyways, I’m back in the moment— sorta—sitting at this restaurant that harbors so many memories. Memories, with friends and family. Dates too. I can see the mini-videos of dinners past, knowing which clip is playing in which booth. I see my kids, enjoying chips, the decor and the largest corner booth, which still feels a bit magical. 

Dinner is done and we walk out. I look around, spotting the video store of my childhood, Jungle Video, which was infamous for its giant porn selection. I remember the curtain that covered the mysterious entrance. I would see men (I honestly don’t remember seeing women) quickly dash in, stay for a while, and come out with a video tag in hand. I also remember the first time I was able to cross the threshold— it was a lot of porn. Jungle Video is out of business and now the sidewalk is the resting spot for a person experiencing homelessness. And I’m further from the moment I’m in… I’m wondering if I will see my dad while I’m here, here in Huntington for this staycation. 

We drive home and my head is on a swivel, taking in all of the new things and all of the familiar things, and looking for my dad. 

So it goes. 

We made it through another day, me and you. Kudos.