15
Oct
My Heartbreak over My Daddy’s Heart Attack
by Opal Peachey
0 Comments | Posted by thatgirl in 21st Century Bellist, That Girl
Then I thought, how silly! Just answer it.
“Don’t worry Opal, your father is fine. He had a heart attack, but we got to the hospital and the doctors are taking very good care of him…it happened last night, but we didn’t want to worry you until he was out of danger…” 
Calls to friends with cars went unanswered and I cursed my retail weekend. Unable to sit still for thirty seconds, I grabbed my purse and walked to the nearest bus stop, propelling myself thirty miles to the Tacoma hospital bed where my passionately healthy father lay at the mercy of his heart.
My dad will tell you about the functions of his body with a pleasure bordering on eccentric. My parents’ quest for health has lead to a profound understanding of the effect food has on the body. Intolerance to dairy can touch everything from skin tone to symptoms of depression. My parents have taken food out of the kitchen, turning it into a practice, a philosophy, a way to understand life.
Daddy bikes the eight mile round trip to his carpentry shop four days a week. He’s visited a naturopath for over a decade and salutes the sun every morning in a faded, green sweatsuit. It’s a given he has low blood pressure.
And yet — boom.
I crouched at his hospital bed, searching for words as clues to what had gone wrong. My tongue froze at the taste of his mortality and all I had to show for myself were handfuls of tears. As soon as he was in recovery, my Dad was checking in with these same questions:
Is this how I will die?
What went wrong to make my body react this way?
How can I make sure it never happens again?
What is this strange suit of flesh and how can I, can we, live peacefully?
Though the existential bend of the twentysomethings assures me otherwise, I think I have an inkling of how precious life is. And if my father’s journey is any indication, this joie de vivre can come in strange forms.
Last weekend my dad and Lore came over for dinner. As daddy and I squinted into the late afternoon sunlight, he confided in me that, though he never would have wished for it, he’s glad he had the heart attack.
“I’m good at paying attention to my body, but the attack was a wake up call. I needed to open my heart. And that’s about so much more than good digestion.”
20
Mar
I Am That Engaged Girl: A Father’s Blessing
by Laura Platino
0 Comments | Posted by thatgirl in 21st Century Bellist, Birds and Bees
Moments after our engagement became official, I inquired if Ben had asked my father for my hand in marriage. “You didn’t?” I exclaimed, wide-eyed and concerned when he shook his head slowly. I assumed, given my traditional Italian upbringing, Ben would have adhered to customary etiquette and asked my dad 
out of respect. Despite the fact that Ben was already an honorary member of our family, I was nervous my dad might be slightly offended.
My fear worsened when, on the phone with my parents, Ben said, “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first, Mr. Platino. It’s not really my style.” My cringe softened when I heard my dad laugh, but I still felt anxious. Now that Ben was going to be my husband, I worried my father’s expectations of him would exceed our contemporary perception of marriage.
Could my dad ever accept that, unlike him and all the men in our family, Ben’s proposal didn’t mean he would settle into a salaried career just to support me? After all, I didn’t expect that. If Ben suddenly dressed up and told me he was going to find a more suitable job, I would probably give him his ring back just to keep him the way he is.
Our engagement got me thinking about how perception changes the moment roles change. To my parents, Ben is the man that will now take care of me. He will be my “in case of emergency” and I can’t blame my father for looking at him a little differently — a little expectantly.
After my fiancé and I transplanted from upstate New York to Los Angeles without a cent in savings, I got sick. Searching for parental consoling one evening, I got a lecture regarding how neither of us have any health insurance. I could sense horror when I explained it is unlikely Ben will ever have the kind of job that will offer health benefits.
A few days later, Ben received a voicemail from my dad, requesting a return phone call. Nausea swept over my body and I imagined my dad discussing with Ben what it means to be a husband, a man, a provider. My nerves were tense all day and I wanted to call my dad to tell him to leave Ben alone — to have some faith in us as a couple.
When I innocently queried Ben that evening about what my father wanted, he casually looked up from the drawing he was working on. “Oh, he just called to say he loved us and if we ever need anything, he hopes we don’t hesitate to ask,” he replied. Ben squinted at me. “Did you tell him how broke we are?” I just shook my head, trying to hold back the tears.
In bed that night I couldn’t sleep. Even though it was 4 a.m. on the East Coast, I felt compelled to contact my dad. I just texted him a message saying “Thank you” and then settled in to finally feeling at peace.