Thank heavens for birthdays. Thank heavens my daughter lives as close as Sacramento.
She’s an elusive one. She won’t make phone calls, she’s skimpy with emails, her texts are beyond terse. But she’ll happily let me hang out with her.
It took five weeks for our schedules to align, and, not coincidentally, for Cheryl to be away at a seminar.
Sacramento, here I come!
Birthday daughter lives in a Korean neighborhood near Midtown. She pays less than $400 to share a top-floor apartment with two other women. The price is exactly right, but can it last?
Expensive apartment and “loft” developments are going up nearby, accompanied by cool coffee houses, restaurants and bars. There’s a palpable sense that gentrification is coming Jenny’s way.
Believe me, I worry about this, but not this day. This day I have Jenny all to myself.
I consider myself fortunate. Not all dads enjoy that privilege with their adult children.
I don’t recall just hanging out with my own dad when I was a young man. Men of his generation didn’t hang, they played golf.
I didn’t hang much with my mom, either. And I when I did, there were always squabbles.
Over the 15 or so years of my Sacramento visits, Jenny and I have established certain rituals. There’s breakfast or lunch, a sightseeing walk through older neighborhoods, maybe a visit to the Crocker museum. And always time at a coffeehouse.
And while we’re eating and walking, we’re talking. Talk about little stuff, big stuff, ridiculous stuff. It just bubbles…
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