Everything Is Unremarkable

When the train reached West Palm Beach, I got off and bought a ticket for the Tri-Rail to Pompano Beach. My father was going to pick me up in Pompano Beach.My father and his friend Jerry were waiting in the Pompano Tri-Rail parking lot, in his black Honda Accord. Jerry was driving.

We rode about three miles back to my father’s place. My father was going to loan me his car while I was in South Florida. He has cataracts, and can’t drive until he is operated on, which is supposed to happen soon. Jerry and his girlfriend Sherry are taking care of my father.

When I see my father I think of an aging Falstaff. He is around six foot two, probably at least two hundred and fifty pounds with a wild full head of silver hair. His dialogue, completely unedited, his life has been extremely colorful and now his anecdotes are delivered matter of factly. They can shock the uninitiated.

When I was fourteen in the seventies, he was arrested for the biggest mortgage fraud ever on the east of the Mississippi. He was charged with one hundred and fifty four counts of mail fraud, and accused of only two counts. He spent fifteen months at a minimum security prison on the panhandle of Florida. When he got out, he said he was going straight. A few months later he was smuggling pot. He continued for another decade. He finally quit when a colleague named Eddie was murdered execution style in Colombia. My brother and I used to call him Uncle Eddie.

My father likes to tell the story of the chief of a tribe in Colombia that he bought tons of pot from. The chief was wearing a loincloth, a Los Angeles Dodgers cap and several gold chains. The chief lived in a thatched hut, drove a pickup truck that was fully equipped with every possible accessory of that time.

Now my father goes to church. He had always made fun of religion. He read the Bible in prison. He used his knowledge of the Bible as artillery against the pious. He would correct anyone that seemed to be interested in saving him. He was a con man who could convince others of just about anything. The game was more interesting than the conviction.

Sherry made us some black beans and rice and salad. My father told me that he was thankful for their help. He then told me that Jerry is a nice guy, but needs constant affirmations.

“I don’t have time for that shit. I like the guy, but I’m not going to tell him every five minutes.”

Then he looked me in the eye and laughed as he said. “You and I are dick heads. We know we’re dick heads. We don’t need that.”

I hugged him when I left. I wanted to get to Churchill’s. I was about forty five minutes from there. I hugged Sherry and Jerry. I looked at my dad. He’s using a walker. He needs a knee operation, but he has pulmonary problems, that make the operation dangerous. He had just given me the details of his medical condition, finishing with- “All I can do is pray.”

About six months earlier, I visited my father. About four in the morning one night he woke me in a panic. He thought he was having a heart attack. I took him to the emergency room. It turned out that he’d torn a muscle in his chest.
When he came back from being checked, he laughed and said, “Do you know what the doctor said about my condition? Everything is unremarkable.”