We talked for a bit earlier with a very beautiful - and nice - woman named Shannon. A model and/or actress (I didn't bother asking, but it came up that she may be doing a commercial shoot soon, and apparently she's a friend of Daphne Ruben-Vega). She was apparently out in the Bay Area to say goodbye to someone who was dying.
Which made me start to think about my relationship with my father. I know I'll never truly resolve things with him - we're just not a "resolving" family. More of a "smile and change the subject" family.
One of the things I found difficult growing up with him was that he had to "win" every discussion. We'd end up taking positions on something - anything - and start to discuss merits, which was fine. But in the end, it would be about him proving himself right,independent of the truth.
If his position was losing, he'd start in on a whole list of maneuvers, including making diversionary jokes, ridiculing me or my position, or as a last resort finding some way to change the subject.
But he'd never, ever admit he was wrong.
I hated that about him. It always made me feel totally worthless. And as I grew older, I hated the fact that I was the same way.
I'd find myself in random conversations, defending some position to the death, despite the fact that I knew I was wrong. I couldn't help myself - the castle walls had been breached, and all would be lost if I didn't repel the invader. It was painful to watch.
And I just realized that I can't remember the last time that happened. I certainly still like to be right, and I pontificate like crazy, but I can't recall the last time I was unable to say I was wrong.
With any luck, this means it's gone away, and I'm generally able to admit I'm wrong, now.
But I feel a sense of loss - not at the change in behavior, but at not having been able to note its passing.