Here's to Papa Meisner

Currently my father is in Dublin. He left Tuesday and he'll be back on the 20th (still sooner than I'll be finished with final papers and my one exam). Last night at Queen's (free wing night; cold wings but I still ate six of 'em. Free wings, okay! Wings have been a pervading theme in my life this semester, God only knows why) I had a pint of Guinness hoping that at the same time my dad might be in a pub, just a little too buzzed from one too many pints of Guinness much tastier than mine, talking freely and too loudly with locals, as he is so inclined to do. It makes me incredibly happy that he's in Dublin right now, and I so hope he'll be able to make that side trip to London, where he's never been (in terms of Europe, he's only been to Germany, twice, and that was before I was born, and of course my family's trip to Dublin this past spring). My dad so adored Dublin, and he needs to see London. Everyone needs to see London.

Dad's friend has a home in Dublin, and he's been invited there repeatedly over the years but never took up the offer to go, until now. Somewhat filled with pride, I consider the fact that my influence is probably the reason he's gone this time. Well, who was to blame for pushing my family to travel abroad this year? Yours truly, of course. If there's one way I influence my family, or if there's any one way I'd like to influence them, it's to travel more. Why should I be the only spoiled one, after all? I tell them "Screw home improvements--yeah, our porch needs new stairs and we need a new stove and all that, but you're not going to be healthy enough to travel forever. You need to see the world." My mom's dying to see London and Paris and Venice, and my dad would be delighted to see all of Italy, especially Tuscany, and Greece. I want it so badly for them, too. Oh, my dream is that someday, someday sooner rather than later, I'd have a good job abroad somewhere and I could afford to send my parents to trips all over the world and trips to visit me. Oh please let me make bank someday.

So, I hope my father is living it up right now, getting into some mischief or at any rate enjoying not having to worry 'bout the missus, or his bratty kids. He fits in too perfectly in Ireland--he's a little guy (and they're generally small over there! As someone permanently child-height I appreciate that in a country [see: Portugal]), he knows the Irish folk songs, and he's far more inclined to sit in a pub talking history or griping over politics than perhaps any other activity in the world. In this regard I am so my father's daughter.

Update: supposedly my father called my mom asking for the recipe to make some Filipino dishes for a party over there. My dad so rarely cooks, and when he does it is certainly not Filipino food, so this is really quite astonishing and laughable (and, I can only assume, a testament to how pleasant a time he must be having, that this idea should strike him). I wonder now, a) if he went through with it, b) how terribad or surprisingly great did it turn out?