Dad Called Me Weird

Dad called me “weird” often. It was a term of endearment that I wore proudly. 

During college, on a trip, or as an adult on my own, I always made a point to swing by dad’s office first when coming in to visit my parents. Shortly after moving to Athens I had come in to spend a weekend with the folks. I had my dog Rushmore with me, pleasantly curled up snoozing in the passenger seat. 

The last hour of the trip was easy going with hardly any traffic. I tuned the radio to NPR and to my delight there was a wonderful Iggy Pop interview with Terry Gross of Fresh Air. In the interview Iggy talks about his fascinating beginnings, life, and the early days of garage and punk music. I felt a close connection with some of his experiences.

The interview continued as I pulled into the parking lot of dad’s office. It was almost lunch time and there were a few clients getting various services. I made a point to walk straight to the back to see if there was anything I could do to help out (clean some cages, sweep or mop, etc.) When much to my enjoyment, I heard over the sound system, the Iggy Pop interview. We were serendipitously listening to the same program!

When dad finished up with his clients he came to the back. We hugged and after some quick pleasantries, he immediately asked if I had ever heard of Iggy Pop. With a big grin on my face, I said, “Indeed, I have. I’m a fan.” He then laughed “He’s weird!” It was the same tone he used when calling me weird. It wasn’t an accusation or shun, but an endearing interest and intrigue. It ironically made me feel normal. He told me he thoroughly enjoying the interview (as did I) and I was absolutely thrilled that we had come together via Iggy Pop.

Stay Weird,

Will 

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