Reality check
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I just have to tell this story. People tell me I look young for my age. I must say that I agree with them. Once in a while, I look in the mirror with completely objectified mindset, and I do see that I do not look like a 47 year old man. This is crazy but last year, I was in Korea having a typical barbecue and soju dinner with a bunch of lawyers (man, lawyers drink like fish), and one of the junior guys was asked by my friend to guess my age. The junior lawyer (perhaps he had a little too much soju) believed that I was about his age but that perhaps I was a little younger than him. So I asked him, “How old are you?”. “27” came the reply. A few months ago, when my daughter was a college student at UCLA, she asked me if I wanted to go to this breakfast café in West Hollywood with her. The pancakes there are ridiculously good – one of the defining moments of my culinary experience – the place is called Griddle Café. You must visit before you die. My wife was out of town, so the two of us drove over there for a nice father-daughter bonding brunch on a rainy Saturday morning. We were feeling relaxed and enjoying each other’s company and talking about this and that. We arrive, find parking, which is not easy and walk up to the place. Outside, there is a crowd of people waiting to be seated. This place is known as a celebrity hang-out, also a place replete with wannabe actors and screenwriters who are waiters. My daughter saunters up to the counter, and this is how the conversation went. Head Waiter: How many? Daughter: Two, please. Head Waiter: Oh, you and your friend? Daughter: Who, you mean him? No. He’s my dad. Head Waiter: (looks at me, does a double-take and triple-take – walks up to me, thrusts his hand out, and pumps my hand vigorously)Congratulations, sir! I can’t believe it. You are her father!? Hey, Bill, (pointing to another waiter) can you believe this!? He’s her dad. (Turns to me) I can’t believe how young you look. What’s your secret? Me: Haha. Okay. Thanks. By this time, I notice that the noise level of this raucous Saturday morning crowd had died down significantly. It felt as if they were wondering who this celebrity is? Why is the waiter shaking this man’s hand so vigorously? He must be somebody. Who is he? I can hear some of the whispers. I am feeling very self-conscious and embarassed now. We step outside to wait our turn and wade into the crowd who have no idea what just occurred inside. For one brief moment, I was afraid the paparazzi would be after me. Later, on the drive home, I turned to my daughter, “Can you believe all that commotion? I must be really young-looking.” The reality check daughter’s reply, “No, dad. It’s not about you. It’s more a reflection of the fact that I am looking older.” I suppose everything is relative. |
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9/16/2008 12:02 pm |
acon, it's a cute cute story! sabine
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9/16/2008 6:05 pm |
hahahaha, puhahaha, oh my gosh, oh my gosh... lost words... that is one hilarios story, everything is relative... but keep in mind perception is reality too. Kim
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9/16/2008 7:17 pm |
Haha ... but it felt great for a moment, didn't it? 
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9/16/2008 9:46 pm |
sab, kim, fawn - yes. it was fun while it lasted. Can you spell d-e-f-l-a-t-e?
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2/19/2009 3:43 pm |
You can always check that by posting a poll with your picture. Invite only women and gay men to apply. Take 25% of the positive female votes and discard them, tabulate what is left and you will get a fairly accurate average.
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