Our weekly get together was marred only by the noisy clashing of dishes and the rude patron at the next table. His loud and obnoxious tones intruded and filtered into the confines of our environment.
It was our custom to have lunch together, and while the cafe was clean, organised and close to my father's work, the cafe lacked the finery and spohistication, which befitted my father's stature and profession. His white hair was like finely spun silk. His shirt ironed to perfection, and coordinated perfectly to his suit and tie. He looked somewhat out of place sitting with me, his daughter, discussing family issues, but he seemed not to care, or was simply oblivious to anyone that looked at us. If it were not for the official work idenification pass around his neck with his picture attached, you would not know he was on his lunch break.
Dad ordered his meal, along with a drink, making friendly chat with the waitress. She looked my way and I too placed an order. The waitress smiled as if she knew us well. Dad and I chatted nervously and awkwardly, for communication between us had always been hard. I've always felt I never measured up to his intelligence, and he resented the fact I wasn't more like him. His intelligence could not be matched, no matter how I tried, for he was a unique man who did not resemble in his attire the type of man he truly was. He was not tall as one would picture a doctor, nor did he flaunt his wealth. He was reserved and seldom craved attention. He was sounght after for his brain power though, and travelled the world as a scientist for the Department of Defence. He was not good at dealing with poeople in a personal way, so to me, he reminded me of Columbo, the hap-hazard, bumbling television detective.
Our meal arrived and my father complained that froth had been put on top of his hot chocolate. He also complained that I should eat my salad greens when I left them idle on my plate. I was left feeling like I was a little girl being scolded. As we parted company a while later, we hugged and kissed in our usual fashion, outside the facia of the shop. A metalic sound rang out as a patron had dropped a piece of cutlery. I turned and parted company... "Why do I bother?" I asked myself when I walked away. I felt scolded by my father's tongue once more.