This isn't a post where I want you to tell me that I change your life. Stop.
Tonight I went to Gaucho's, a Brazilian restaurant in Manchester, with my Mom and Dad. I'd classify it as an upscale buffet - $25 per person, with an extensive salad bar and funny men in white shirts and red neckerchiefs that come around to tables with flank steak, prime rib, filet mignon, chicken, sausage, salmon, etc. Your coaster is a circle with green on one side, red on the back. Green saying "more food," red, "I'm full." The servers make funny pouting faces when you tell them you don't want their food. Directly behind me sits a very large man. I notice obese people, and I don't shrug them off as people whom "genetics have frowned upon," but I've never viewed them as lower than any other person. My Dad and my Mom are arguing over how much he weighs. "300," says Mom, "350," says Dad. I stay out of the conversation until fifteen minutes later when the man spills his water and quickly stands up to avoid spilling on his pants. His stomach hits and rattles the table and draws the attention of the restaurant to him. I turn around to finally see how big he really is and casually say to my parents "400." I figure this is the end of the conversation. But tonight my Dad's smugness seemed to be in full effect. He stands up, and I assume he is walking to the bathroom. I don't turn around to follow where he goes. All of a sudden I hear behind me "Hi, my son was wondering just how much you weigh?" It was the first time my jaw has literally dropped in disbelief. My Mom and I stared at each other wide-eyed and bewildered. One, I never gave much inquiry into how much the man weighed, I honestly could care less. But two, and even worse, my Dad actually asked a helpless man who obviously knows he's overweight, how much he weighs. The man replied, in a fake uptempo and happy voice that clearly meant "fuck off," "I haven't stepped on the scale in a while." My Dad sits down and says "You see, Jake, although you may never expect it, you can always ask anyone, almost any question, and often times even receive an answer." I couldn't believe he viewed this as a learning experience, enough to start a sentence with "You see, Jake." The fact that he probably just destroyed this man's night, along with the three women he was with, did not even seem to register in his head. An argument started, and my Dad adamantly refused to believe he had done anything wrong. The main point came in the humiliation of the man, but even more came in to the fact that he used me as a buffer to asking the question. This, I explained to him, was the same as me walking over to the lady at the next table, and asking in a good humored voice, "Excuse me, Ma'am, my Father was wondering just how big your tits were." He said it wasn't the same. Of course it was the same. It's times like these when I promise myself I will never raise my kids as he has raised me. To further the situation, as the party gets up to leave, one woman stays behind. "I was wondering, did you know Steve back there, or were you just wondering about his weight?" The woman had a smile on her face but it was obvious to everyone but my Dad that she was only asking "Are you that much of an asshole?" My Dad smiled and said "No, I was just wondering." The three of us didn't speak the rest of the night.
On the way home, fueled by whatever anger he was holding and aided by the torrential downpour, my Dad was driving recklessly 80mph. There were points when I honestly thought I would die. Which then sparked my interesting on what would happen if I did die. What would I leave behind, have I done anything of consequence, would it matter? There was nothing suicidal about it. It was merely an assessment of my life up until that moment. I wouldn't have died without falling in love. I wouldn't have died without friends. I wouldn't have died a virgin. I've read enough books, taken enough pictures, laughed relentlessly more times than I can count. I don't know if anything was made better in the world because of me, or if I influenced anyone in the slightest manner, but I could at least say to myself that I am content enough with my life to this point that if I were to die, I would not feel that I've missed out on much. And perhaps I shouldn't judge my life based on what I've experienced, but how the world has changed because of me, but death, I think, is probably the best time to be selfish. There is plenty of generosity in this world, but most of it comes to further ones image or in expect of something in return, rarely does anyone do anything good out of the kindness of their own heart. When better time to be selfish than when there will be no repercussion of it?
Rain beat down on the car the rest of the way home. Two of the normal routes back to the house were closed because of flooding. Land was literally pouring onto the road from the steady torrent of the newly created streams. I thought about building an ark. Jewish Jazz music was playing on NPR.