Drumbeats into My Heart

60. Jordi Gets Closer to Dad

I glance at my dad as we watch the borrowed DVD that Mrs. Martinez gave me the other day. It's designed to introduce and explain dyslexia to families. He's so engrossed, you'd think we were watching a Marvel fight scene instead of an instructional video.

When it ends, he stops the DVD player and turns to me. "That was really eye-opening. So... it's genetic?"

"Sometimes." I idly peruse the back of the DVD case. "Other times dyslexia shows up after physical trauma. You didn't drop me on my head when I was a kid, did you?"

"Only once."

I gape at him, unsure if he's serious or just deadpanning.

"Kidding! I'm kidding."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Seriously. I have very good hands. You can't play shortstop if you have butterfingers."

I relent and jab my finger into his arm. "You are not funny."

"My Class Clown award from seventh grade says otherwise."

I roll my eyes and remove the disc from the player.

"I can show you the award if you need a reminder."

"No need, Mr. Funny. I remember from the last time you showed me."

"Oh good." Dad exhales dramatically. "Because I'm not sure which box that ended up in."

I press the DVD into its case and snap it shut. "What do you think?" I hold the case up. "It was nice of Mrs. Martinez to loan this to me."

He takes the case from me and pretends to examine the cover. "These people look a wee bit too cheerful. I mean, it's not exactly good news, is it?"

"Dad."

He notices my tone and sobers, setting the case down. "Do you think..." He picks up the DVD case again, avoiding my eyes. "Do you think maybe I should take that test? The one you took last week? Maybe..." He sets the case down again. "Never mind, it's stupid."

"No, Dad. It's not stupid. Maybe this is why you have trouble with paperwork."

He looks at me then. "I'm kind of wondering that too."

I pause, considering. "I'm talking to Mrs. Martinez when I see her tomorrow. I'll ask her about adult testing. She'll know."

He rotates the wedding band on his finger. Around and around.

I rarely see him fidgeting, so I can tell this topic is difficult for him. It wasn't easy for me either.

"Is it hard?" he asks.

"The test? Kind of, but the thing that really gets you is how long it is. Eight hours across two days."

His eyebrows shoot up. "That's a lot of testing."

"Tell me about it. But the good thing is once you're done, they're able to determine what you need help with."

"And they did that with you?"

I confirm with a nod.

"Then what?"

"Now I need to learn how to work around my limitations."

"Like coping mechanisms?"

"I guess so."

He digests this for a moment. "Cool."

The room is quiet for a while, and I wonder what Dad is thinking about.

"Is this weird for you?" I venture.

He returns his gaze to me. "Not so much weird as it is... like... I never thought there was anything medically wrong with us."

"I said kind of the same thing to Mrs. Martinez, and she was quick to say it's not wrongness. Just different wiring."

"Different wiring." He scratches his beard. "I like that."

"I liked it too. She's really nice."

"They never had anything like this when I was a kid. They just called me lazy."

"That's horrible."

"Different times, I guess. It's kind of why I joined the baseball team. To seem less lazy."

"Really?"

"Well, I probably didn't realize that at the time. I was a good player. Not amazing enough to get college recruiters looking at me, but I looked damn good in that uniform." He strikes a modeleque pose.

I giggle at him. "I'm sure you did."

"You want to see pictures?"

"No, that's okay."

"It's just as well. They're probably with my Class Clown award somewhere."

We fall into amiable silence. This is nice. I never used to talk to Dad as much when Mom was around. The three of us were an inseparable unit, but Mom had always been my go-to person for heart-to-heart talks and advice. Getting to know my father better these past several months has been wonderful. I don't think I'll ever stop missing my mom, but I don't regret getting closer to him as a result for a single second.

Hitting that vote button is never a regretful action either. :)