my tragic right hip

Busting out bad joints all over the place

March 5th, 2008

A Conversation With My Father

Or, An Exercise In Writing Dialogue

My dad was going to come down and have lunch with me tomorrow, but as the weather’s supposed to take a turn for the worse, we’ve postponed until next week. He did, however, have this to say, “Did you see that article in the Toronto Star about people like you? Do you read that paper at all?”

“Not usually. Like me how?”

[I am thinking: writers, readers, RRHB-lovers, bloggers, workers, women, any myriad of words that could be used to describe my interests]

“You know, left-handed.”

[Ohhhhh] “What did it say?”

“That you’re all pretty intelligent. And there’s not very many of you.”

“My smarts have never been in question Daddy, just what I do with them.”

Chuckle. More conversation about when he will come down for lunch. Sounds of him eating dinner. Me teasing him about being an old man eating at old man times. Hanging up.

One Response to “A Conversation With My Father”

  • sam lamb says:

    That’s funny. And it also bodes well for Sadie since she’s like YOU.


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Girl with titanium hip will rock. Girl with titanium hip will write. Girl with titanium hip will read. Girl with titanium hip will battle crazy-ass disease called Wegener's Granulomatosis. Now stuff that in your spelling bee!

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