don’t be a jerk

Today was my Dad’s birthday, so I took the old Mongol out to lunch at Trastavere on 3rd Street.
 
On a random note, my dad has a large, wide head. He is what we refer to as a BHK (Big-Headed-Korean.) My cranium is fairly narrow. This didn’t really mean anything to me until I saw an old picture of my dad when he was in his mid-twenties, and I was shocked to find that he looked somewhat like me when he was younger. I am worried that this means my head will gradually increase in size as I get older. Then I too will eventually become a leathery, big-headed Mongol.
 
For the most part, tho, my sister takes after my dad in physical appearance and temperament. I clearly take after my mom in the same ways. Because of this fact, I tend to take my mom for granted because she is constantly reminding me of things that we both already know. I know, it’s bad. But I’m conscious of it and try to keep myself in check.
 
Pops and I didn’t really get along for most of our lives. Not because the guy didn’t love me, but more cause he’s kinduvan idiot regarding person to person relations and didn’t really have any positive male role-models when he was a kid. I wrote about this before so I won’t go too much into detail.
 
I still marvel at the fact that I actually like hanging out with my parents. All throughout my life my mom would tell me that you’ll never get the same sense of home and security that you get from family. I did not see this at the time, understandably, because family was where I got the least amount of support and love.
 
Life went on, things changed, and now I don’t hate hanging out with my folks anymore. They do talk about Mr. Jesus more than I’d prefer, but, hey, they’re happy.
 
Anyhow, it’s a nice day. I feel good that I actually make enough money these days to be able to buy my parents a nice meal (cause that might change once I decide to go full-time actor.) My dad, as usual, grabs the top of my head and says a small prayer for me in Korean. I, as usual, sit there patiently and take it. My mom and I have a conversation, and my dad just eats, doesn’t listen, and occasionally interjects some complete non-sequitur then goes back to eating. The usual stuff.
 
Maybe it was because of the nice setting. Maybe it was because I’m more open to it now. Maybe it was because of the recent stresses I’ve been having in my personal life lately, but today I finally knew what my mom had always been talking about. Today I felt my parents’ love. I was at an Italian restaurant, eating an overcooked steak, and I felt my parents’ love. Love for me. Love for what I’m doing. Love regardless. Parental love. It felt safe and comforting. It felt like home.
 
I got a little misty. I started to suck it up, but decided to let myself go with it for a little bit. It’s not a new feeling; just unfamiliar. This is why I’ve always known that I want to have kids someday. So that I can give that much love to some rugrat who secretly makes fun of the size of my head.