He comes in the door and his face is red from working all day in the Minnesota cold. He looks so tired.
He says he loves the smell in here and I'm all proud because I've been working on his favorite, Mexican. Cilantro and garlic are mixing through the air when I look at him, hoping my meal is spicy enough. He likes spicy to the point of sweating the very most.
I fumble around the kitchen, stirring and flipping tortillas and asking him questions. He peels off layers of winter weather wear and he sits down with a thud, like it's all he's wanted to do all day.
Instead, he's been lifting and bending and pounding nails and building. Miles wants him to build with Legos now and he just can't.
There's just been too much building. Since 1970-something...building.
He's built innumerable houses and our lives. That's what he's done.
Asher asks him for gum and we laugh because Asher always asks him for gum first, after saying Bapa over and over. His Bapa is one of his favorites.
Miles says that's because Asher and Bapa share a name. Asher Michael. Michael.
He wants to know about conversations I've had and he is the one who called me on my way home from Cupcake '10. He called and asked questions and I know he was mostly just trying to be sure I'd stay awake through the long drive home.
He's my Dad. He's Bapa.
He's interested and I think that makes all the difference. His questions are specific, of things he remembers me mentioning in passing or learned from my blog. Yes, he probably knows more about the subculture of blogging than most people his same age and in his same shoes. Because somehow he's proud of me for my words and my meal cooking skills and maybe even my mothering. That blows my mind.
So when I'm confused about this move we've made and I feel lonely for our last home and its people, it makes me feel a whole lot better to see him come through the door, snowy boots kicking the floor.
I still can't figure out which light switch turns on what light, or how to get the house to heat evenly, but my parents are nearby and so is my sister and her family and so we're home.