Speaking of the presidential debates, I had dinner last night with mi padre who is in town for work this week. We often spend most of the meal (he always requests Italian – I’m my father’s daughter after all!) bitching, nay, arguing about work: him as high level management criticizing some of his workers that aren’t solution-driven, me as medium level minion criticizing management for not communicating goals efficiently. It’s good times, and I often end up concluding my argument using profanities which never fails to make him laugh, then scold.
Dad usually starts the conversation with a comment about my general health as manifested through my skin. I inherited his susceptibility to eczema, seasonal allergies, and warm weather fevers so when my face is either peeling off or smattered with zits (or both!) you can be sure he will say something, offering advice and cortisone.
After a particularly harrowing work week not too long ago, I spent an entire weekend hiding out at home with them in order to avoid any social interaction. My underarms, of all places, became inflamed with large patches of eczema, apparently as a result of my emotional duress. Embarrassed, I sat with my parents in silence when my Dad chimed in, “You have to manage your stress, I’ve gotten that too, it’s bad and painful,” giving a nod towards my arms. Ain’t nothin’ like the image of a 50-something Filipino man with red irritated armpits.
And last night, as he headed back to his hotel, I emailed him about the debate when Gov. Romney mentioned counterfeit valves from China, and he wrote back, “I have pictures of those valves I can show you.” I hadn’t realized that the company whose products were copied by the Chinese is the very company my Dad is the VP of Quality of. At the end of the day, no matter how old fashioned my father can seem, he never fails to surprise me with how relevant he always is.
