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With so much strife in my family over the way holiday meats are prepared I suggested we all become vegetarians. My dad said he'd rather not eat then.

Later he told me he went over to the rock quarry off of Thousand Oaks Blvd, where, as a girl, inside a yellow shack where you could see sunlight between the exposed planks of wood, I used to take music lessons. Music lessons taught out of a shack built inside a quarry. Yup. It was always dusty in there because the wind would blow the dust from the quarry straight in through the walls. It was very Wild West, especially during the Santa Anas.

My dad had gone there for a guitar tuner and record player needle and the old hippie/owner, Wally, told my dad, "I remember you. You had a little girl named Molly who used to come here for lessons."

It has been almost fifteen years since I left Wally to take my music lessons at school and he not only remembered my dad's face but my name. People in that town remember me and why I don't know. I was shy and quiet, sticking to my own insulated interests, reading, playing music, playing in the yard by myself but mostly reading. I told my dad that because I was so meek I was really surprised he remembered me.

He responded, "Well I know why he remembers you. He's a damn pervert that's why!"

As my brother would say, "Nice, dad."

26 December 2005 - 1:54 PM

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