This weekend, my dad came to Boston to visit me. He took the Amtrak up from Manhattan, where he works throughout the year. Since he’d be alone in his apartment for the weekend, he proposed coming down to Boston for an impromptu father-daughter meetup. I couldn’t possibly object! Any opportunity to see my parents is one I’ll take.Â
I grew up incredibly close to my mom and dad. Maybe some people think it’s obnoxious how much I talk about my family — specifically my parents — but what other way do I have to thank them when they’re not around? I spent a chunk of my childhood abroad, and I was attached at the hip to my parents; we traveled to new countries together, toured new schools, and moved houses. I wouldn’t trade my childhood for anything, and I knew how difficult it would be to leave them when I came to college.Â
The transition was much more seamless than I expected as a freshman. Now that I’m in my sophomore year, it only felt natural to go back to school, despite the tear-jerking goodbye that came with it on Sept. 1st as I watched my parents leave my apartment.Â
A week before my dad was scheduled to arrive, I texted him asking what restaurant he wanted to eat at on Saturday night. Did he want to go to a local student joint at BU or a nice place in the North End? I should’ve known right away that he’d pick the classic option: Felipe’s, a Mexican restaurant in Harvard Square I’d been raving about since my friend had introduced me to it.Â
Flash forward to that day, and I’m showing him around campus. We walk to my classes, stroll through Coolidge Corner, grab a coffee at Blank Street, and then head to Cambridge for some good old burritos. My dad loves Mexican food. But for years I didn’t enjoy it, probably because as a kid I would just order a boring old chicken quesadilla and call it a day. No pico de gallo, no guac. Only sour cream and cheese. While I don’t claim to be a food critic, Felipe’s has earned its spot as my favorite Mexican food in Massachusetts. Regardless, I knew that my dad would be happy no matter where we went, as long as he got to spend time with his daughter.Â
We sit down with our burritos. The go-to order, taught to me by my friend, is ordering a burrito with melted cheese. Then, you add crunchy strips, guac, pico, rice, chicken, and whatever else you like in your meal. A non-negotiable for me is also a lemonade to wash it all down. My dad and I also took the liberty of ordering the Felipe special: a side of chips, queso, guac, and salsa. How else can you define perfection?Â
My dad has always been someone I can have nuanced conversations with. From politics to music, we could spend a long time sitting and talking. Along with his stubbornness and poor eyesight, my dad passed along to me his love for The Smashing Pumpkins and the movie Dead Poets Society. Now we share new interests, like going to Tame Impala concerts or simply going on Starbucks runs. College makes it incredibly difficult to catch your parents up on every single aspect of what they’ve missed, but I try my best.
Between sips of lemonade, my dad catches me up on his work, his friends, and life at home. I tell him about my recent favorite TV show, Adults, and how excited I am to hear Phoebe Bridgers play her new album, The Lost Weekend, at her concert. He’s incredibly invested in me and my sisters’ lives. He wants to know our friends, our interests, our career goals. And I don’t take this for granted. It motivates me to ask questions myself.
I enjoy asking my dad what he and my mom were like when they were in college: what they were interested in, what music they listened to, what movies they watched. I think it’s pretty common for kids to wonder what their parents were once like at their age. And while I may not have known my dad when he was a kid, I would be lucky to have even a fraction of the charismatic, kind personality I know he has when I’m older.Â
When it was time to part ways on Sunday afternoon, I found myself sobbing in my apartment bedroom after the dreaded goodbye. I think the realization has begun to dawn on me that I’m no longer a kid. The times I used to spend with my parents have become less frequent and more occasional. I knew this would come eventually: the unbelievable nostalgia and wishing for how things used to be. And I’m grieving the life I used to have. The one where my dad would carry me from the car to the house as a sleepy kid. The one where I would see my parents every day for breakfast, my mom drinking her coffee and my dad making eggs and bacon. But I know what a privilege it is to have these memories and moments of nostalgia to look back on.Â
But at the end of the day, no matter where we meet up, he’s still my dad, and I’m still his daughter. No amount of time passing or change in scenery could change that. I know feeling sad is natural, but I’m so thankful for the quality time we got to spend together, because even a simple meal like burritos can provide you with a taste of home, comfort, and bring you back to orbit.
Conversing with my dad while dipping our chips in salsa was the highlight of my month, easily.Â
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