polar bears

i intended to write a father's day entry. it was supposed to be about how my dad wants a dog. i sort of planned it as a way to guilt my mom into acquiescence. i really do think he needs a dog and i think my mom worries too much about how short a dog's life is and who will deal with the poop. but we were without internet that weekend and it didn't get done. then was the craziness that comes with the end of school. the dog sits on a back burner.

then i wrote about my poor, condemned roses. i know the parents read the blog but they don't post. mom refuses to learn the newfangled technology of the internet. she seems to think it's like betamax and will be gone before she can figure it out. of course, mom, who finished up a lapsed college career the same time i was gong to college, typed up every college paper on the ridiculous electric typewriter i bought with my graduation dollars in 1986. she is a luddite.

dad, though, embraces technology. he pretends this is not true, something my own sweetie accuses me of regularly. he can disassemble, fix and reassemble just about anything. for a long time, i assumed all dads were like that and was shocked to find some dads pay people to change the oil in the car or fix the tv. i have my suspicions about why he doesn't post comments to the blog. for now he'll get away with it. he just doesn't post. but from time to time he emails me about my posts. this morning's email from him was titled "DAD....." it was a gloating email in all caps. it was the "i was right and you didn't expect it" sort of gloating. the most satisfying sort of gloating to do and the most exasperating sort of gloating to suffer through.

but he is right. it should not have been a surprise that he knew something i didn't expect him to know. when i called, i asked for mom, bypassing him without even considering that he'd know a rose right off the top of his head. but he has always had an abundance of random, strange, unlikely bits of info rattling around in his head. like when he told us polar bears don't have white fur. the hairs are hollow, he told us. and clear, like fingernails. they just look white. i believed it right away and tried to work that tidbit of information into conversation when possible. it was always met with laughter. but it's true, i'd insist. even in college. even in grad school. friends would laugh about "hillbilly lore" and would hug me for being adorable enough to believe such things. but my dad told me, i'd insist, which would just bring more laughter and hugs. everyone knew our parents' generation was nuts, full of spookiness and superstition and made up nonsense. they were children during the war and it had messed up their heads. but he was right. he's always right.

the thing about my dad is you can't figure where he gets this information he doles out. his relationship with school was not so friendly. i have seen his report cards. i'm not saying folks who don't enjoy school aren't smart. in fact, i've dedicated my entire professional life (which often spills over into everything else) to disproving that idea. this is probably dad's fault. what i'm saying is his knowledge is not all home remedies and car repair, although he's got those areas covered pretty well. it's school facts. only more detailed. his mind is like an encyclopedia of loose "academic" information. it's like he has playing cards up there each with a separate bit of fancy knowledge and once in a while he deals one out to someone.

i was looking at bird feathers, fingernails and pond water through my own microscope when i was in elementary school. see what i mean. he values things most men he identifies with don't. did your dad think you needed a microscope when you were little? it is this secret science life of his that fascinates me most because he tosses it out with full confidence and it always sounds made up. he comes across as a trickster, someone telling a joke at the expense of gullible folks. enigma. mystery. conundrum. my dad has spent a lifetime pretending to know nothing around people who are not his children. i have seen him. his hillbilly accent deepens and broadens when he interacts with new yorkers. they find him charming. he smiles and puts extra syllables in all his words, says them like they're accidentally falling out the side of his mouth. and nobody can tell he knows what color polar bears are.