A Visceral Reaction

I have a problem, completely my own and really without any merit. When we were little these were my Dad's priorities: 

1) running

2) work

3) the house

4) us girls

5) our mom

I know that sounds harsh, but it's true. I don't think this was a conscious decision and he would certainly deny it but running always came first and we knew it. It wasn't that he was a bad Dad - he was there if we needed him and we always knew he loved us but we also knew we weren't top of mind. Fast forward many years and running was replaced with piano, something he'd always played - especially when even slightly pushed at a party - but when mom bought him a piano that was a game changer. His love: Boogie Woogie - I have no qualm with piano and heaven help me, as a born and raised Chicagoan I know I'm supposed to inherently love Blues and thus Boogie Woogie but I just don't and lately I find that I just can't. When he plays the piano I have this out of body experience, and not a good one. If I can't flee the house or get to my headphones quick enough I sit in the bathroom with the fan on until he's done. I know it's irrational and that I should be happy that it brings him such joy but I just can't. Last night after our 'after dinner walk' I made Frank stand on the porch waiting for Dad to finish playing - we stood in the cold, windy rain - watching him play through the shutters, banging on the keys, tapping his foot, happy. I want him to be happy, or at least I think I do. But there is something about seeing him playing the piano with such joy, such abandon, that just breaks me - self preservation kicks in, irrational yes, but it saves me every time. 

#Dad #piano #BoogieWoogie #running #priorities #Chicago