Dad

Volume XIII
Issue 7
July 2010

QuestionLady is written and played by SL Stukey, herself an Obscure Celebrity of a sort. It is likely that somewhere, sometime, you have read something she has written, especially if you live in the Midwestern United States. She has been writing promotional material, instruction manuals, and other such everyday literature for many years (she'd say how many, if she could remember what year she started, it was 1989, or maybe 1991). She always thought she'd be a real writer someday, but she's not holding her breath anymore.

She can be contacted at:

Dad

Once again, keeping her interviews in a seasonal pattern (QuestionLady and hurricanes do have their seasons), QuestionLady seeks out an Obscure Celebrity suited to June. Dad. Yes, we all have Dads -- somewhere -- but Dad lives on as an Obscure Celebrity as well. QuestionLady interviews the Dad immortalized by Father’s Day. The Dad from the old grade school readers, Father’s Day ads, and some sitcoms. The Dad of the pipe and slippers, faithful dog Spot, and tailfin sedans. QuestionLady doesn’t know anyone who actually has a dad that resembles this imaginary Dad, so she was quite excited to meet Dad.

Dad was a pleasant middle-aged man, wearing a cardigan, and, yes, slippers. He was handsome, but not too handsome, with blue eyes that also managed to be brown, and brown hair that also managed to be blond and almost black as well -- neatly cut, but not too short. QuestionLady met him in his imaginary den -- a first for QuestionLady, who, up to this point, has avoided imaginary destinations. It was wood paneled, but also nicely wallpapered, with a fireplace at one end of the room. There were framed golf prints on the wall, that at the same time were photos of sailboats, that at the same time were reproductions of Currier and Ives prints. There was a nice mahogany desk in one corner of the room, that at the same time was a drafting/hobby table, and, by the fireplace, two overstuffed chairs, which were upholstered in leather, that at the same time were upholstered in a nice restrained plaid.

Dad met QuestionLady, who was dressed in her usual blue jeans, non-descript shirt and black leather jacket, with warmth and a big hug.

Dad: Good to see you, KittenQuestionLady: Um, hello, um, Dad.

(Dad gives QuestionLady another hug, and sits down in one of the overstuffed chairs. QuestionLady sits in the other. Dad takes out his pipe and begins fiddling with it.)

D: What’s the problem, kitten?
QL: Well, um, Dad, my first question is one that kids across America have always wondered --

D (genially): Shoot, kitten.
QL: What, exactly, is that you do at the "office"? You go to the office; you come home from the office; you are exhausted from a hard day at the office, but we never really know what you do at the office.

D (smiles): Oh, office work.
QL: But what kind of business are you in? A doctor, lawyer, lottery chief?

D (still smiling): Oh, I never wanted to bother Mom and you kids with trivial details
QL: So you’re not going to tell me?

D (still smiling): No, no, office work isn’t that interesting.
QL: I’m with you on that one, um, Dad…

D: (serious): It’s hard work, but I’m making a living for you kids and Mom. And then I come home and enjoy myself, working on the lawn. I love that lawnmower you kids and Mom got me for Christmas -- I had a hard time waiting for spring, so I could try it out. (Dad leans over and pats QuestionLady on the knee.) Your Mom, and you kids, Kitten, you make it all worth it.

(QuestionLady has become more uncomfortable as Dad has been speaking. While Dad is a pleasant, kindly man, he is not QuestionLady’s Dad.)

QL: Excuse me, Mr. Dad, (feeling that a little formality is called for), but, you know, you’re not my Dad. In fact, I’ve never met a Dad that was much like you at all.
D (smiles): I know, Kitten. I’m the All-American Dad, I don’t have any actual children; my children are all the Dads and the kids across the good old U.S.A. So you are my child, in a way.

QL: Excuse me, but that sounds a little loony, Mr. Dad.
(Dad lights his pipe, and smiles, as he puffs on the pipe in a Dad-like manner.)
D: Not any more than interviewing a non-existent person, Kitten.

QL: You have a point there, Mr. Dad. But thank you for taking the time to talk to me.
D: Of course, Kitten. I’m glad we had our little talk.

(QuestionLady gets up and waves good-bye to Dad. He stands and gives her a big Dad hug, which is quite touching, actually.)

D: Be back by 11:30, Kitten. We don’t want your Mom to worry.
QL (caught off guard): Sure thing, um, Dad.

(QuestionLady returns to her Globe-Guardian office, which still hasn’t been completely cleaned up after the Incident. She hopes to have everything back up and running by next month, but until then, wants everyone to know that her actual Dad never called her Kitten. Occasionally, in one of his rare flights of fancy, he would call her Zeke. She has never inquired into the reasons behind this.)

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