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Saturday mornings are not my thing.
Actually, that’s completely inaccurate. Saturday mornings are totally my thing – who doesn’t love sleeping in after a long week of morning classes? – however, when my Saturday morning starts with a grumpy roommate and a looming ten-page paper, it quickly becomes not my thing.
Even though Stella told Cody they were good, in her mind, they most certainly are not. I know because she told me in those exact word, many, many times on the drive home and now again over breakfast.
“The nerve of that guy. Doesn’t he realize we live in the 21stcentury and you can’t throw people over your shoulder like some sort of caveman? I may have told him we’re good, but in my mind, we most certainly are not.” I mentally add another tally to the Hating Cody scoreboard. If Stella keeps this up, we’ll hit rant fifteen by lunchtime without breaking a sweat.
I poke at my breakfast mac n’ cheese and try to think of a response I haven’t said yet.
“Totally ridiculous.” Hmm, that one sounds familiar. I may have used that line while we were brushing our teeth this morning.
“Right?! God, he makes me so mad…” My phone buzzes on the table and I swiftly grab it. I’ve been waiting for this call all week.
“Sorry, I’ve got to take this, it’s my dad. Meet you back at the dorm?” Stella waves me away with a flick of her protein shake.
“No rush. Say hi to your father for me.” I shoot her a smile, snatching up my bag and pressing accept on the FaceTime call as I head to the courtyard.
“Hi sweetie,” My dad’s smiling face fills the screen. “How’s my favourite university student?” I shake my head with a smile.
“Dad. We both know I’m the only university student you know.”
“Ah but that doesn’t mean you’re my favourite, now does it.” I can’t help but groan. Some things never change.
“Enough joking around, I want to hear about everything. Tell me about your roommate. About the disastrous state of your bathroom. Everything.” Laughing, I answer each of his questions.
Due to the nature of his new job, I don’t get to see my dad as much as I used to. He’s an ecologist, so he gets paid to study the relationships between organisms and their environment. Last spring, he got a promotion to be one of the scientists who travel around Canada, conducting research on various ecosystems. The opportunity, not to mention the extra salary, made the decision to accept an easy one. Sadly, it also means the time my mother and I get to spend with him is cut in half.
“Anyways, how are you doing? What’s Yukon like?” Another bonus of this promotion is I get to hear about every corner of Canada. Most of the time our calls end with me adding locations to my vacation bucket list, other times I am putting them on my don’t-step-off-the-plane list. The trick is to have balance.
“Yukon is amazing; you would love it here. I get to see the northern lights every night, and nature stretches as far as the eye can see.” I sigh at the image, and suddenly my father’s voice drops into a serious tone.
“But let’s not talk about work, are you really doing alright, Lou Bear?”
High school may have taken years off my social development, but I swear it took even more years off my parents’ stress-producing organs. The sad part was there was nothing my parents could do to help me make friends, just like there was nothing I could do to reduce the worry my parents carried day-in and day-out.
No one enjoys being the social outcast, but when your own parents are aware of the struggle it makes it so much worse. The stress sinks on both parties as I feel guilty for not being normal while my parents feel guilty for not being able to help. It’s the ultimate lose-lose situation.
“I’m doing well, dad. I really am. Besides Stella, I’ve managed to make a couple of other friends too. University is different from high school; no one cares about cliques or popularity anymore. It’s as though the social hierarchy has finally flattened out.” I see relief relax the lines around his eyes.
“I am so happy to hear that. And I want you to know, I am proud of you. You’ve really put yourself out there and already you are doing so much better than last year. Now, I hate to say goodbye Lou Bear, but I’ve got an incoming call from one of our shareholders. Let’s try and talk again soon, okay? Miss you!”
“Miss you too,” the words barely leave my lips before the call ends. And just like that, my dad disappears for another few weeks.
I love catching up with my old man, but the yearning to see him is always so much worse after we talk. I know from experience that the homesickness (dad sickness?) eventually fades, but right now my heart feels too heavy for my chest.
Closing my eyes, I take a moment to breath in the tranquility of the courtyard. About three breaths in my Zen gets broken when my phone chirps with an incoming message. I grin, thinking it’s my dad forgetting to tell me about some new insect he has discovered, but when I glance down at my screen it’s not his name flashing up at me.
WES: How’s that paper coming along?
Laughter bubbles up in my chest. I don’t know how he does it, but Wes has impeccable timing when it comes to lifting my spirits.
ME: Finishing up the conclusion as we speak.
WES: I can smell the lie from here.
Laughter spills out of my mouth because he’s caught me: I haven’t thought up a topic for my paper, let alone started the writing process. When it comes to procrastination, I am the master of all masters. Not that he needs to know that.
ME: I’m serious. Operant conditioning has never been more interesting.
