|
|
Note: I am aware that this looks God awful in IE. Do yourself a favor and get you some Firefox before you get lost in the big scary world out there.
Monday, June 11th, 2007
No spoilers
I've complained about a lot of things since about the moment I was born, but one of the most grating and repetitive bones of contention I've had over the past few years was the fact that I was never allowed to watch The Sopranos. Every Sunday at nine, a whistle and a jerk of the thumb meant, "Get out, too many swear words and naked women," like I didn't experience either one at some point during the day anyway. When this trend first started (Dad jumped in about the end of second season), I was in high school and I was in a mood. I've got diary entries covered in blood about how ridiculous and unfair it was that they did not find me mature enough or did not respect me enough to realize that I wanted nothing to do with the stupid show and just let me write my paper.
Though of course, being about a thousand times more rational than I was then, I completely understand it now. If they ever swear in front of me, I get the hell out of the room or tell them to cut it out, because that's just not right. We are not a family that curses together. So I get why my dad would be so adamant that I as a twelve-year-old not be around that language. However, I'm almost twenty now, and it has actually become absurd to have me leave the room. Fortunately, I'm a little less sensitive than before, so lately it's mostly just funny. It's been a lot of: "Hey, nine o'clock, you gotta get out of here." "Oh, what, I'm a stupid baby?" "Yep, a stupid baby who I don't want to hear any swears." "I use more swears than every character put together. In one day." "I don't care, not around me." "Fine. Tony's going to die, you know." "So is Harry Potter."
I sent my dad an email earlier this week telling him that I knew he had the big series finale to watch, but to get over it quickly because Brian Regan's new stand-up special premiered immediately after. The agreed-upon plan was I would get out of the room and do whatever I wanted for the big hour, then recount whatever jokes he missed when I came in at ten.
But somehow, things were said and deals were made, and I was allowed to experience this epic television event with him.
I don't suppose anyone can really understand what a big deal this is, and I didn't even really care until after the show was over and my dad and I shared our thoughts (mine especially provoking, I guess), he said, "You should write about it in your blog. I don't know if you have a blog, but...." (Which to me says, "I know you have a blog and I read it secretly at work," in which case, hi Dad! And probably Mom!)
Knocking down the seven-year-long barrier known as The Sopranos is comparable to a father buying his son his first beer or a mother shopping for bras with her daughter. It's some kind of weird progression where you make another dent into adulthood. Like, I don't know, being accepted as not just a daughter but as a human. It's a fear I've had for a long time, that he's found the things I do--writing and music and theatre--all a little too pansyish. And when he said that, "You should write about it," I got this overwhelming sense that he actually respects what I do, and something else in his voice told me that he thinks I have what it takes to produce something as amazing as The Sopranos if I wanted to.
This speaks on about a thousand different levels for me, but friends respect each other. My dad is one of my best friends, not because he's made me think he's supercool by cursing or buying us kids drinks or any of that, but because we admire each other deeply and equally. And I think that's the way it has to be in everything. I think that's where Augustine hit the nail on the head.