"And when he opened The Seventh Seal, there was no gate to exit from"
My dad's birthday is today. He's 55 years old. He also just recently retired and is my last living parent, so his birthdays always mean a little bit more to me these days. I could drone on about how great of a father he is, but instead I'm going to share one of my favorite moments I had with him. I think I still have time to tell this coherently before the edible hits.
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It was 2004. I was half way through my freshman year of high school, moody, and filled with angst. I was also a horny slacker who was boy crazy with her head constantly in the clouds and slightly stupid.
My brother was a freshman at UC Irvine, pretty much proving he was the brains of the family. He was a slacker in high school but a slacker who got 5's on his AP Tests and scored high on his SAT's without really trying. If I were to describe my brother, I would say he's one of the smartest people I know--voracious reader, talented writer, able to take any test and pass it flawlessly, and a deep thinker. I would also say he's the dumbest person I know-- the boy has no common sense whatsoever. When we were kids, we went to a Chinese restaurant as a family. He ordered the beef and broccoli, which was always his favorite. The minute the waiter set down the beef and broccoli, you could see the steam coming from the entire plate. I guess my brother's impatience mixed with hunger overtook him and he took a heaping spoonful of the beef and broccoli goodness. Immediately he yelped from pain because, well, the food was hot. My parents told him to wait, so he did.
Ten seconds hadn't even passed and he took another heaping spoonful and again, he yelped in pain.
And then there was my poor father--he just moved in with his girlfriend and her three kids, trying to navigate the waters of helping to raise someone else's children. He also had to deal with my dumb teenager ass every other weekend, and my brother, who was in college, broke, and without a license to drive. This meant any time my brother needed something my dad would have to make the trek out to him to drop it off.
It was my dad's weekend to have me. I liked going to my dad's because he let me rent a bunch of films from Blockbuster and he had an endless supply of snacks and soda at his place. He was also less of a homebody than my mom so if there was ever a time I was in the mood to do something, he would usually be on board.
That weekend was when I watched The Seventh Seal for the very first time and I was enamored by the lushness of the film, the dialogue, the questioning of God's existence. It spoke to me in a way many films didn't, which would start my love affair with Ingmar Bergman's filmography. But I'm not here to talk about Bergman's influence on my filmmaker brain (It should also come to no surprise I didn't date during high school, either).
I cannot remember exactly what we had to drop off to my brother, more than likely money, but we had to make a trek to Irvine from Cypress and decided to make a dinner date with him. I never minded the journey to south OC. I've always found it calming to be driven around town. It gave me an opportunity to listen to music, gaze out the window, and get lost in my own thoughts. Sometimes I'd think about movie ideas, other times I would fantasize about my future. It was one of the few moments during my day I could shut off my brain and let my imagination take over. I yearn for those days again.
After we had arrived in Irvine, the three of us made the decision to eat at Ruby's Diner in Newport Beach. We got there, we were seated, the waitress took our orders as we got absorbed in chit chat about how classes were going, if my father was being driven insane by his girlfriend's children, what books I was reading in English--you know, typical conversation. I was still in a weird mood after watching The Seventh Seal. I was pensive and didn't really engage much. Instead I just let my brother and dad take over the flow of the conversation, while I half listened, half contemplated if whether or not I was an Atheist.
The food arrived, and my strawberry shake was hand delivered to me by a very hot boy, or at least what a 14 year old Heaven would have considered a hot boy--a tall, pale, lanky 20 something year old dude with glasses and shaggy hair. We ate, continued to joke and tease one another. We finished our food and went to the front to pay. My brother has never been one to hang around a counter when someone is paying so he started to meander to the front patio outside to get ready to head back to my father's truck. I followed him out to the patio as my dad gave his debit card to the hostess.
As we got outside, we noticed a gate the surrounded the patio area that came up to my hip. My brother was trying to find an exit off the patio but either grew impatient or just felt embarrassed that he was wandering around the patio with nowhere to go, desperately trying to find the exit. At this point, my dad made it out to the patio and noticed the conundrum we were in. Instead of either of them admitting defeat and going back inside the restaurant to exit the establishment from the entrance we came in, they decided to climb over the fence.
My brother hopped over first with little to no issue. My dad and I followed suit and began to climb over simultaneously. At this point in the evening, my very 90's, green, Seattle-esque flannel jacket that would have made Kurt Cobain jealous was tied around my waist. As my dad was putting one of his feet over the gate, his huge foot got caught in my flannel jacket pocket. He didn't realize this happened until he started dragging me down. My right foot wasn't even over the gate before I realized what was going on.
"Dad! Dad! DAAAAAD", I screeched to stop him from bringing my face to the pavement. My dad started to laugh and exclaimed "Oh shit!" when he noticed me hanging of the gate. We re-adjusted ourselves and my dad was able to get his foot out of my jacket pocket. After recalibrating ourselves, we made a second attempt to hop over the gate. The second time gave us no issue.
As we were laughing about the slap-stick moment we had just shared, my brother had stumbled upon the opening to the fence he was desperate to find two minutes prior. In a typical dad fashion, my dad says, "You're supposed to be the brains of the family!"
There was a beat before my dad then pointed out the glaringly obvious:
"Can you believe this fucking shit?! A bunch of white, Orange County people just saw three Mexicans hop over a fence!"
We immediately busted out laughing. I laughed so hard my stomach began to hurt and I started crying. The three of us headed back to the truck, still in hysterics by a stereotype we accidentally perpetuated.