Friday night as we were just wrapping up the recording of Strange Love my phone rang. It was upstairs and on silent but I could hear it vibrating on the side board in the dining room. Since we stop recording around midnight I thought it was a little odd that it was ringing at all so I headed up to see who was calling (silently cursing them because if I hadn’t turned off the ringer it could have woken up K and applauding my own good sense at turning off the ringer to prevent said waking of the kid).
When I picked it up and saw the name attached to the missed call I did a double take. My phone was telling me something I had trouble believing… “Missed Call from Dave”
Let me just tell you that a phone call from Dave, one of my closest friends in the history of time, the man who introduced me to my husband, toasted us at our wedding causing half the attendees to tear up, the godfather of my child… well a phone call from Dave these days is a rare thing.
I met Dave when I was 17. I had just gotten my very first job and he was the only one there who was nice to me at first. He continued to be nice even after I was probably aloof and bitchy.
When I was 19 and I broke up with my boyfriend, the one I moved to Portland to be with, it was Dave that I got an apartment with. It was a skuzzy little 2 bedroom townhouse just blocks from where I live now.
We once had a fight over a Violent Femmes/ Cake concert and didn’t talk for a year. When we finally saw each other again it was a matter of oh… 30 seconds… before we were fine and dandy. It wasn’t too long after we reunited that he introduced me to my husband. It was only a little over a year later that Mike and made him a nice meal, sat him down in our dining room and told him we were going to have a baby. After our parents he was the first person to know.
When I was hospitalized so they could induce labor he came every day until K was born. I was in the hospital for 3 days either in labor or sitting around waiting for labor to come. I’m pretty sure he kept Mike sane.
Not too long ago in the grand scheme of things, a year maybe, he moved to Seattle. He wanted a change of scenery. I think he was looking for a place he belonged. We haven’t seen or heard from him much since he moved but I never doubt that if I need him he’ll be here. I could sing a sappy song about it, he’s that kind of friend, Really.
So when the phone told me he’d called I wracked my brain trying to figure why he might be calling. What he was doing. Did he need me? Did I need him? I called him back to find out he was at one of the bars down the street from my house, a smoky stinky bar, and he wanted me to join him. Alas it was late, we had a guest over still and Mike is not fond of me wandering the streets by myself in the dead of night (yes my husband is a bit over protective, but I’m okay with that). He told me they were heading to another neighborhood bar in a bit, and since my house lay between the bar he was leaving and the one he was going to I told him to stop by.
Stop by he did. It wasn’t just him though, he had two other very good friends of mine in tow.
What happened while they were here could fill a week of blog posts so I’ll just skip over that stuff and tell you that four hours later as I was dozing off, I thought how nice it had been to see the guys. I set out for a night of sweet dreams with the certain knowledge that I would be seeing Dave again the next day for brunch. I couldn’t wait to tell K her godfather was coming over.
I woke up what seemed like moments later to K asking for cartoons and breakfast, I made her a quick bite to eat and let her watch cartoons keeping the news that we would be seeing Uncle Dave in a few hours to myself. I knew what would happen the moment she found out: There would be bouncing and shrieking and a fashion show of outfits as she searched for just the perfect thing to make her look cool.
10 minutes before he got her I sent her into her room to get dressed for brunch. She didn’t want to.
“Do I HAVE to?”
Yes, yes she had to. That child would live in her pajamas if it wasn’t for me and my cruel clothing requirements. But I had Uncle Dave up my sleeve. I held her in my arms and whispered ever so quietly “We’re having breakfast with Uncle Dave” and she was off like lightening, tripping over herself to get dressed.
He showed up moments later and waited quietly (and by quietly I mean he made her wriggle and squeal while he smacked her with pillows and feigned ignorance of the simplest knowledge) as I swept her hair up into pig tails and asked her to put on her shoes. I left the room for a moment and when I got back he was engaged in an activity that I had failed miserably at for months.
He was teaching my child to tie her shoes.
I’ve been trying for months to get her to just TRY to learn to no avail, but 5 minutes with Uncle Dave (who has no kids of his own) and K is now an expert at shoe tying. She can even double knot them.
Thanks Dave, for the shoe tying and the husband too.