Alone and Unobserved

Yesterday, I went to the pool for the first time in seven months. I’ve been going to the gym at least a couple times a week, but swimming is whole different kind of exercise than the elliptical machine or the treadmill. I had ample opportunity to ponder that difference, and just how long seven months is, every half lap as I clung to the side of the pool gasping for breath. I am determined to keep going at least once a week, though, and maybe someday I’ll actually be able to swim a lap without stopping.

When I was leaving, I noticed that one of the lifeguards was painting a scene with watercolors, and when I commented on it, she said it was a Father’s Day card.

“I know it’s a bit late,” she admitted, “and it’s not very good. But my dad likes them anyway.”

I smiled and walked away, thinking that my dad probably would have appreciated a messy watercolor card from his son. So as I was walking home from the pool, I pulled out my cell phone and called home for the first time in at least eight months. And you know what? I had a really good conversation with my father, about copyright, democracy, physical fitness and the handcart-company re-enactment the family is taking part in in a month or so. He said he would try to make sure he called a bit more often, and I said that would be okay.

When I was done talking to him, I asked to speak with my mom. I told her I was sorry about being so harsh towards her in my emails—the things I had said were true, and I really meant them, but they didn’t matter to me as much as staying in touch with my mother. She was really happy to hear from me, which made me feel even guiltier about being so stubborn and unforgiving.

“I just wonder,” I said, “what’s going to happen when I’m in a long-term relationship. How is that going to work with us?”

“Well, how do you want it to work?” she asked.

We agreed that if I were in a relationship it wouldn’t be unreasonable for me to talk about my boyfriend, or for them to meet him and get to know him. For their benefit, I wouldn’t make out with my boyfriend in front of them, or demand that we be invited to their house overnight.

Later, I called my sister. It was almost as if it hadn’t been eight months since we last spoke. She’s about six months pregnant, and we talked about placentas and uteruses and amniotic fluid and due dates, just like we always used to. And then she apologized for Christmas, and I apologized back, and we agreed that when my little brother brings his fiancee up to Utah, that we should all try and get together for lunch or something.

My brother-in-law got on the phone next, and we both apologized to each other for being less than tolerant, and agreed that we would try to work on that in the future.

So that’s it. Kind of a letdown, isn’t it? No hair-pulling, no bloodshed, no explosions, no evil twins and no impossible disguises. Whoever the scriptwriter in charge was, he or she could learn a lot from whoever writes for Sir Jupiter‘s life.

For those of you who want your lessons pre-digested, the moral (or rather, a moral) is: don’t conduct important family discussions by email. If you hear from your mom that your sister and brother-in-law have decided that you aren’t invited to the family Christmas celebration, please call or visit your sister and talk to her about it. Call your mother, too, if you want, but make sure you aren’t operating from hearsay when you decide never to speak to the people involved ever again.

And if you should happen not to heed my advice, at least make sure you get a proper explosion or evil twin out of it. Please? For our benefit.