We're celebrating Father's Day today, mostly because Steph can't make it on Sunday. The usual thing to do is to take dad (or mom if it's Mother's Day) out to lunch or dinner. My dad can be quite frustrating because he doesn't want anything and doesn't want to pick a restaurant. Eventually we decide on a Vietnamese restaurant that most of us haven't been to and have a nice meal between the four of us, as Chris is working today so he missed it.

So I suppose I should spend some time writing about my father. Unfortunately, after all these years, I don't really know him that well. When it comes down to it, I'm a rather self-absorbed person and don't really want to know other people *that* well. So my parents are a bit of a mystery to me. But I shall attempt to describe my father.

I've already written a bit about my parents. My dad is the youngest of three children, born and raised in Peru, who came to the US to study. He met my mom there and they were married, moved back to Peru and after some hard work, came back to the US with their (then) two kids to start a new life here. Those are bare facts, but what kind of man is he?

Judging from his friends, my dad is a great guy. He gets along well with just about anyone. In fact, I have rarely seen him really angry. Usually frustrated at the kids, sometimes a bit testy, but not really "I'm going to pop you one" angry. He keeps close contact with our far-flung relatives, and I have a lot of cousins, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews that I don't remember at all but he knows them all.

My dad is a skilled cook, having done it for years when my parents owned a Chinese restaurant. He tends to cook more by feel, and can duplicate other dishes relatively well. Not fancy, but good basic meals that mix Peruvian, Chinese, and American elements. He is also trilingual, able to speak Mandarin, English and Spanish fluently as far as I can tell. Both traits help him make friends, as people seem to love his cooking and people tend to be friendlier with others that can speak their native tongues.

Memories of my father. I remember when he and I put one of my bicycles together. He didn't teach me how to ride a bike though. Also when he taught me how to mow the lawn, and then proceeded to make the do it all the time, something I hated. I'd alwaysd try to mow at night when it was cooler, although it's easy to miss patches and to run over things that way.

There was one time that he had to hit me with the belt for something really bad I must have done. It's only one memory, and he never did it again. Another time when he was detained by customs when returning from Peru. That was a worrisome few hours because we didn't know what was going to happen to him.

I remember lots of nights when my mom and dad played Mahjong with some friends. The loud clack clack clack of the tiles when they shuffled them kept my sister and I up at nights. He's not really into sports or card games or anything else, other than Mahjong and watching some soap operas.

I suppose that as a dad he did a fine job. I certainly don't have repressed rage against him, and I believe he mostly approves of me and the choices I make. He and my mom have somehow stayed together over the years, and settled into a sort of tolerable comfort zone when once they fought quite a bit. He's not perfect, but he's a fine person and a good father.