sometimes my dad calls me.  they’re never normal conversations though.  they’re weird random phone calls in different accents and high pitched voices.  sometimes, he asks for my imaginary sister. well, sometimes he pretends he is my imaginary sister.

when i was small, he used to play games with me.  he used to make funny faces…talk in funny voices….and tell me funny stories.  at one point, he made up an imaginary sister for me that was actually a more interesting kid than both my brother or me.  her name was duku.  sometimes, i was jealous of her.  she always did fun stuff with my dad and played the best tricks on my brother.  but then my dad would talk about how duku did something really not nice or really not ok and then i would feel like the perfect kid again. (insert hug to daddy here). 

nowadays, conversations with my father only happen on car rides to and from school.  we usually talk about work and the cousins and my brother and other random family members.  we get home, he turns on the tv, and i go to my room.  eventually, he falls asleep.  sometimes, on my way back from getting a midnight snack, i look over…and i watch him.  part of me doesn’t believe he’s sleeping.  part of me thinks he’s just lying there, watching me.  i’m waiting for him to jump up and  make some strange noise.  but he doesn’t.  he sleeps…soundly.  hah…well, with the sound of the typical (or maybe not that typical) old asian man snoring. 

i’m going home soon.  yay.

hah.  look at me.  tomorrow’s mother’s day…and here i go writing about my father.  go me.