Reflections on Seeing a Photograph of My Father

My father has the largest calves I have ever seen on a man of his hair coloring. My calves are weak and svelte and can barely manage to propel me up stairs. I often yearn for an ottoman while sitting in chairs. I am the diminution of a man who watches Sci-Fi channel original movies and gives awkward reminiscences about meals he has eaten to waiters. My father has no opposable thumbs. He cannot reach his thumb to touch his little finger. To touch the other fingers causes him physical discomfort. I had a long argument with him once over the process through which tea is accomplished. He insisted that it was not composed of particulates of leaves, but rather was created through some alchemy of hot water and plant extracts. He also added, almost as an ad hominem, that the words ‘dissolve’ and ‘melt’ had identical meanings when applied to sugar in coffee. I could have spit. I could have pulled off my own head like a tick. But the girls called me from the pool and insisted I swim. My father read an article from a food magazine to his travel magazine.