Parental Unit Visit: Day 1

My parents are in town. They tell everyone that they are visiting me; but, really, they are touring the museums and only have dinner with me. For this, I am grateful. About an hour or two may be all that I can take if last night was any example.

We went to dinner. Within the course of the meal, I learned several things about my father that really appall me.

They had gone to the Holocaust Museum earlier in the day. Moving, tragic, important. I figured that was a safe topic of conversation because you have to be a complete asshole to say something offensive about it. How could I be so very naive? I learned that, in the museum that day, my dad had said, "you know, Germany wanted 'change,' too."

Yes, that's right. My own father compared the Obama administration to the Third Reich. While standing in the Holocaust Museum.

At least my mother, who is a Democrat if a Lieberman-esque sort of Democrat, had the grace to be embarrassed. "You aren't in Texas anymore," she told him.

Our conversation then shifted to flying. We can all agree that it is a pain in the ass, that the seats are too small, that people who tilt their seats back are inconsiderate, and that the security process is getting too ridiculous. I should have steered the conversation away from security immediately.

"It would go a lot faster if they would just let security profile," my dad said. He meant profile brown-skinned people, not white-skinned domestic terrorist people. When I pointed this out, my dad said, "well they aren't a problem right now." Yeah, because right-wing whites aren't bringing guns to presidential rallies these days.

Finally, we finished dinner and went out to their rental car. Who knew that could be a minefield, too? "I can't believe I'm driving around in a car with New York plates," he said, with much disgust. Understand that the man has seen nothing of the state of New York other than a short stretch of interstate. He's never set foot in New York City.

"Provincialism is unattractive," I told him. "Don't be like those Yankees." By which I meant the nasty people whom I encountered in That Place. Then I launched into an overly detailed explanation of the best route back to my place.

Fortunately, they did not want to come up and see my apartment.

Fortunately, also, they did not refer to any non-Anglo ethnic food with derogatory racial slurs.

We are scheduled to have dinner tonight. They are supposed to go up to Harpers Ferry today, or perhaps Antietam, although they may end up seeing the bones exhibit at the natural history museum. I hope they have done the last because I really don't want to hear about how the Civil War was not about slavery. Because they would do that. They would tell a PhD-carrying historian who writes about Frederick Douglass that slavery had nothing to do with the Civil War.

Pray for me.