From A Divorced Dad, You Should Expect

to chop a lot of garlic—suddenly every other task is too dangerous when you want to help him in the kitchen. Expect dollar store green apple shampoo and a conditioner that doesn’t match. Expect Red Sox games, Pawn Stars, and Food Network. Expect to watch The Parent Trap. And then watch it again. And again. Expect to see him tear up for the first time on your twentieth rewatch and be prepared to turn your head the other way. Expect forgetfulness you’ll probably be missing part of your school uniform when you get to your mom’s house on Sunday night. Then, expect him to forget to pick you up from choir practice on Monday. Expect bike rides and trips to the grocery store; these are the only activities he can offer on weekends after spending what was left of his money on cheap booze and cigarettes. Expect jazz music and Steely Dan. Expect him to give in when you find that puppy on the side of the road. Expect bruises and bloody knees and back rubs. Expect cups of wine instead of coffee early in the morning. Your drives will be hell, but he’ll get you there in one piece. Expect his comfort even when you’re weeping that you hate him. Expect to go gift shopping at garage sales, or, if it’s a good year, expect $20 each for you and your siblings (expect him to say he picked it out himself and think it’s funny every time). Expect to grow out of his jokes, the room in his house, and the mindset that you’re okay with the way he talks to you. Expect him to move out—him, not you—and take the dog and the old white truck that you hate so much too. Expect him to go back north, where you know he’s happiest, and start growing a garden. Expect to only talk to him three times a year, on both of your birthdays and on Father’s Day. Expect the calls to be at least an hour long. Expect him to tell you all about the squash and the tomatoes, and how the dog is good but he’s going a little blind. Expect him to ask you to say hi to your mom for him. But most of all, expect for the both of you to be okay when the garden freezes over, and his hearing is so bad he can’t listen to music anymore—when his hands have gotten too shaky to chop garlic on his own, and the dog dies, and the calls stop.

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By:Allison Boroff Oil Paint