Growing Old (Part 2 of 2)

Ronald leaned back and eyed the stack of neatly folded thick wool blankets woven with Native American motifs in the corner. He got up and grabbed two of them. He laid them out on the bench as a cushion and sat back down. He thought back to his retirement party, almost ten years ago.

It was the last time he and his son had got drunk. Not sloppy drunk. Just inebriated to the point where those three big words, ‘I love you’, came easy. They had sequestered themselves in a corner of the bar and spent most of the evening laughing and joking and reminiscing about Janice. Even though it was his party, Ronald had felt some guilt afterward about not being more sociable. He genuinely enjoyed his boy’s company however, and never apologized for that.

He was aware that Duncan missed this type of camaraderie as well. Hell, so did he, but he felt like an intruder even though he called only once a week to their home in Palo Alto. He enjoyed speaking with his daughter–in-law Connie, and if the kids happened to be home, he always exchanged pleasantries with them. But stealing her husband for 10 Sundays every fall for football made him feel like a home wrecker. Both men, however, knew those 49er games were indeed little nuggets of father-son gold they would covet and sneak into their coffins to cradle into the ever-after.

He was brought out of his pleasantly nostalgic thought wave by his son setting two brimming martini glasses on the table in front of them. Duncan sat and patted the blanket padding. “Good idea, Dad.”

They bumped fists quietly and lightly. It was a gesture that, ironically, Ronald had introduced to the relationship. He’d watched Michael Jordan give birth to it in the 80s and decided it might help him bridge the 34 year gap with his son. It did.

“Food‘ll be about 15 minutes. I told them no hurry.”

Ronald nodded and reached down, handed his son a glass and picked up the other one and raised it. “A toast, son. Let’s try to do this two or three times a year. You’re not getting any younger and I don’t want you to regret not spending more time with me.”

Duncan chuckled politely. “I think we’re gonna have to do it more often based on the fact you won’t remember the previous times.”

“I may not have as much lead in the pencil as I used to, but my mind is sharp. Or have you forgotten that last time we played Scrabble? 49er game vs. the Saints? Parking lot at the ‘Stick? Chuck Liddell would have been proud of the beat-down I gave you that day. You were pummeled more than Drew Brees.”

“I only tease you about your mental faculties, or lack thereof, because you still have them. The jokes will stop when you start licking your own vomit off of your lobster bib at Tadich Grill.”

“Lovely imagery. And you went to Stanford? And I paid for it?!”

“Scholarship paid for most of it, Pops.”

“The Sundance in your town has an excellent grilled lobster. When I feel the need to wear a bib, that’s when I wander aimlessly in front of a Cal train Express and move on to the next level.”

“Don’t even joke about that, Dad.”

“You started it. Hey, do you think about your mother much since she died?”

Duncan sipped his martini thoughtfully. His father did not know it, but he’d ordered himself an Absolut martini as well, homage of sorts. He knew his father made the same ‘sacrifice’ for him at their football tailgating sessions. It was the least he could do. The very least.

The mother question came from left field, though Duncan knew his father liked to do that. His dad had told him once, ‘you always get a more honest answer when they can’t prepare for it”. As usual, he was right.

“Dad, I think about mom a lot. But it usually rolls over to you, because you lived with her for 35 years, she was your sidekick. You are the one with the bigger vacuum. But yeah, I miss her. She was a good mom, occasionally a great mom. I wish you two could have had a girl after me, I think mom died unhappy because she never got to raise a daughter.”

“Really? She never mentioned that to me. How do you surmise that?”

“Surmise?”

“Remember the Scrabble game, smartass. I may be 80 and getting on toward frail, but I got enough money to hire that burly bar-back upstairs to toss you into the Pacific. It’s shark season, you know.”

Duncan laughed. This was how their tailgating went at the games. The trash talking was non-stop. When it came to talking shit, his dad had not lost a step. He could drop the latest hip-hop inspired phrases, pop culture references and the most current school yard, basketball court put downs, which were often made even more hilarious simply because they were coming out of a soon-to-be Octogenarian. As a son, he dearly loved those times.

The subject of his mom, on the other hand, was always a sobering one.

“I’m surprised she never mentioned it to you, Dad. About a month before she died, we were talking in the living room. You were at work. She mentioned that her biggest regret was not having a daughter. Broke my heart.”

Ronald sat, stunned.

“I had no idea.”

“No way for you to know, Dad, if she never told you.”

Under his breath, Ronald said simply, “Fuck.”

Duncan reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

“She loved you more than anything in the world, Dad. You know that as well as I do.”

He nodded, staring out at the ocean. Seagulls dive-bombed back and forth about 100 yards off the deck, 300 feet above the beach. The occasional mournful wail escaped the birds and sailed on the wind back to the two men. It was a very soothing theatre, audibly and visually.

Ronald turned toward his son and said, “She would brag to her friends how her son was at Stanford. She would go on and on. Even I would start to roll my eyes.”

Duncan laughed, recalling how hurt Janice had been, herself a Stanford grad, when he had told her Beverly had chosen Cal. Beverly had solicited her brother to tell their mom as she did not have the heart to tell her she was joining the enemy.

“Going to Stanford was my smartest move. You have no idea, Dad, the pressure mom brought to bear while I was trying to decide. She knew if she pushed me in front of you that you would put a stop to it. When you weren’t around, she’d do things like pin up a Stanford pennant in my room, or leave a Stanford hat and sweatshirt on my bed, laid out for me to wear. One time she even programmed my cell phone ring tone to be Stanford’s fight song. In the end, it was an easy decision.”

Ronald laughed. “I knew she wanted you to go there. She at least told me that much. I didn’t know the other stuff. It is probably the best school in the world, son, in my opinion.”

“I agree.”

“Do you think Mom being gone for almost ten years now contributes to this ennui you’re experiencing?”

“On who?”

“Ennui. It’s French for ‘boredom’.”

“So is ‘Duncan’, smartass.”

“Very quick, nice. Well…?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve moved on from your mother, as calloused as that may sound. I think maybe watching Elmer deteriorate, watching him become a fucking plant that people simply water to keep him alive, that has brought me closer to my mortality.”

“Closer how?”

“Okay, not closer, but it keeps the subject on my front burner, when in the past it was back-burnered and I was able to ignore it occasionally.”

“I get that. Still, there seems to be more to this…”

“Kid, I know I am dead square in the middle of the big fade, the famous final scene, the last hurrah, where Sinatra breaks into ‘My Way’. But I feel empty, like I’m going wherever it is the fuck we go to, with an empty dossier, a resume that doesn’t measure up.”

“Then what the hell do you consider your life’s work to be? You built houses. You designed architecture that will be visible to people in the city for years if not ever. What the hell else do you want?”

Ronald felt a light go on suddenly. Not quite in the range of an epiphany, more a dimly lit revelation of something that had been sitting there staring at him to the point he had become immunized to it. He had a legacy. He had a fabulous legacy already in place, thriving, burgeoning even. He had grandkids in college and a son who wanted to hang out with him. All three wouldn’t be here but for him.

Duncan, Beverly and Andrew were accomplishments. His accomplishments.

He felt chagrined. Even silly. Had he become that obtuse and self-absorbed that he couldn’t see the forest he’d planted for the trees?

He’d known men through the years who were fundamentally disappointed in their children. Men who never connected with their sons or daughters. Men who bitched out loud about what albatrosses their kids had become.

He had never spoken like that, let alone felt that way. He loved his son from the moment he’d stubbed out his cigar in the waiting room and joined Janice after the birth, as she was holding their son, umbilical cord still uncut. And his love and appreciation of the boy had simply grown exponentially with each day. Sure, there were moments of disappointment, but nothing worth mentioning or even remembering.

His kid went to Stanford. His kid’s kid goes to Stanford. Okay, Beverly cavorts with the enemy, but all bullshit aside, Cal is a great school and he loved his granddaughter with all his heart. A quality young lady with a future so bright it must be daunting to her.

Duncan was watching his father. It was interesting to see his brow furrow and there was clearly something at work beneath the skin and skull as his father appeared deep in thought.

“Trying to figure out how to spell ‘Alzheimer’s’?” It was a running joke between them, whenever there was an extended silence when they were together.

“Duncan, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be? I’ll help you spell it.”

Ronald weaved his hand dismissively. “I’ve been so selfish, feeling like life owed me a living, so full of this bullshit that is ingrained in our pop culture and that I bitch about almost constantly: I’ve been living with a sense of entitlement, for Christ sake.”

“I haven’t seen that or sensed it.”

“When I retired, I must have bought into that word totally. I went from being one of the most proactive, aggressive men, to sitting back and seeing what came my way. And for a while, a lot did. But like most things, that slowed to an ebb, and I was left with my life and only my life. Especially after your mother died. I’d lost the instinct, maybe even the skill, to make things happen. Life had begun to live me.”

Duncan remained silent. Their martini glasses were empty. It had been longer than 15 minutes and he turned just as the waiter arrived with two platters festooned with a variety of appetizers and finger foods.

As the waiter set the second platter down, he eyed the glasses and asked, “Two more, gentlemen?”

Father and son spoke at the same time, “We’d be fools not to.” It was their standard line to the question of another round, wherever they were.

“Absolut? Very dry? Two olives each?”

“Yes”, Duncan said very quickly, catching his father’s bemused grin as he heard the vodka identified. Duncan just shrugged and slurped a raw oyster down his throat in one expert suck. “I don’t mind vodka, especially Absolut.”

“And I don’t mind Tanqueray.”

Ronald picked up a Panko crusted Tempura-fried prawn and dipped it in a small white ramekin filled with blue cheese dressing. He moaned when he took the first bite, half the prawn disappearing.

“Okay to double dip, Dad. You’re among friends.”

And Ronald did, plunging the rest of the battered prawn into the dip and biting it off to the tail, which he’d used to hold it.

Duncan slurped another oyster just as two fresh martinis were placed in front of them. Duncan slipped the waiter a folded up ten dollar bill and winked at him. He didn’t want to have to go hunting for the guy later. Good service was always worth paying for. The young man grinned and nodded and stood up straight.

“Anything else at the moment, gentlemen?”

Both men shook their heads and the waiter departed.

It was a lot of the little things, the under-the-radar creature comforts, that The Distillery provided that made the whole experience seem almost ethereal. You started with the mighty Pacific Ocean at your doorstep. Though a long ways off and down to the beach and rocks, the crashing waves seemed much closer as sound galloped vertically with little resistance. The folded stack of blankets gave warmth just looking at them, knowing they could be pressed into service at any juncture. The martini glasses were actual crystal as were the toothpicks that speared the olives that showed in the silvery liquid like two green eyes peering out. Even the coasters were substantial; cork-bottomed with a gritty clay surface engraved with the restaurant’s logo of a contorted Marlin in mid-air. And the service was impeccable. Yes, you paid for all of this. There were no bargains at The Distillery, unless you count the lifelong memories available to those who chose to make them.

Duncan and Ronald were making one for the ages.

There was a smaller plate crowded with three thick, plump crab cakes that looked like hockey pucks on steroids. Creamy garlic, cayenne and lemon aioli sauce accompanied them along with a hot, spicy, red sauce with horseradish.

There were still two oysters left, and another plate was stacked with four small foil-encased slabs of cheesy garlic bread from which steam curled up into the misty fog that rolled in seemingly non-stop. Finally, an even smaller plate had three celery halves arranged on it in a triangle, filled like little canoes with a sour cream and chive dip. The contrast of cold and hot, soft and crunchy, and fresh and cooked provided a cornucopia of culinary sensations that had both men at one point moaning with pleasure. The Absolut played the sorbet role, cleansing the pallet with each sip in preparation for the next explosion of flavor.

After Ronald made it clear that he would not be partaking of the oysters, claiming innocently, “They’re an aphrodisiac. What the hell am I gonna do with a chubby?” Duncan quickly slurped down the two remaining bivalves with lust in his eyes.

“But I get two out of the three hockey pucks,” Ronald declared.

“Done,” Duncan said, devouring the last fried prawn slathered in blue cheese dressing, eating it in one bite.

The waiter, a good lad, had provided a small Tabasco bottle for anyone wanting their Fahrenheit raised a bit and Ronald sprinkled the hot sauce liberally on a piece of garlic bread and took a bite.

Duncan took note and did the same. Both men sat back at the same moment and patted their stomachs, mirror images. They laughed in recognition.

“I want to talk to you about my will.”

“Shit Dad. We were having such a good time. Really?”

“Really.”

Duncan scooped up the now empty martini glasses and was about to turn and go up the stairs to the bar when out of nowhere their waiter appeared. “Two more, sir?”

“Indeed,” Duncan said, grateful to avoid having to navigate the creaky wooden stairs. The ten dollars just paid off, he thought. He handed the kid the glasses and sat back down.

“We’re gonna need liquid sustenance to go down this road, I think.”

“Fair enough. I’ll wait.”

They talked casually about Beverly’s latest revelation that she intended to go to Boalt at Cal and study to be a lawyer. They agreed it was an admirable way to make in living in spite of the pervasive attitude toward barristers in general. Beverly had no interest in criminal law but was leaning toward some sort of environmental influence. She had a fairly strong activist streak in her, which went a ways toward explaining her choice of college.

With two fresh drinks in front of them, Ronald raised his glass rim toward his son. “To good luck.” It was his favorite toast.

The glassy clink finished the toast and they both sipped the dry martinis. “Perfect,” Duncan said, setting it carefully on his coaster.

Ronald kept his glass cradled in his gnarly, well worn hands and rested it on his stomach.

“So, my will. It’s all in order. In fact it’s been in order since your mom passed.”

“So, why bring it up? I don’t want to know what’s in it. Nothing you leave me or the kids will make up for you being gone.”

“Not even the 49er season tickets?”

“Well, maybe those.” They both grinned.

“While we’re on that subject, I thought I’d take Andrew to a couple of games this year. Would you mind?”

“Not at all. He’d love it. He’ll be old enough to drink by then, he turns 21 in February.”

“The 18th, I know, chowder head. Beverly turns 21 on the same day, last time I checked.”

“Finally figured out that whole ‘twins’ thing, have we?”

Ronald ignored him. “I’ve established trust funds for both kids. Actually, I did it before your mom died even. So there’s some serious cash in there at this stage. You are power of attorney until you die, then Connie, or vice versa. The kids don’t gain control of the money until both of you are dead or, you and Connie decide to sign it over to them.”

Duncan interjected. “Do you have any desires about that, one way or the other?”

“I trust your judgment. And Connie’s. If you and Connie live, for example, to be my age, you’ll probably want to give the kids the money as they will have probably already started their own families.”

Duncan nodded.

“I’m leaving you my flat and the Chevy. And everything in the flat. To do with what you like. No strings attached. Won’t hurt my feelings if you sell everything.”

“Like you would know.”

“Exactly.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I kept the flat and rented it out?”

“You want that kind of headache? Why not just sell it then?”

“Sentimentality?”

“That’s your call, son.”

“Okay. Are we done with this subject?”

“Not quite.”

Ronald crunched into a piece of celery, munching loudly and slowly.

Duncan watched him, intrigued.

“Your mom has left you something. She wanted me to wait until you turned 50, which was quite optimistic of her, given that would make me 84.”

“Then why now?”

“Because no one has guaranteed me 84.”

“No one has guaranteed us the ride home, for God’s sake.”

“I’m choosing to tell you now. You wanna know, or not?”

“Sure, tell me.”

“She bought it, actually we bought it, originally for your kids, when they were about five. Then we thought better of it and it was her decision to leave it to you, and Connie. A place to retire to.”

“We love Palo Alto, pop.”

“I know. Mom thought you might use it as a summer home. It’s a big cabin on Lake Tahoe. A three bedroom, two bath home with three fireplaces, a dock, an outhouse, a small barn, and it sits on three acres. It’s beautiful. We stayed there a few times during the last couple of years she was alive. She loved it there.”

Duncan leaned back, overwhelmed.

“I don’t know what to say, dad. ‘Thanks’ doesn’t quite fit the bill.”

“Enjoy it. Those would be your mom’s words.”

“I will. We will.”

They touched glasses again.

Ronald leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

How long ago was it that he felt old? It was peculiar how things could change so quickly.

THE END