Column 8 "Father's Day"

Father's Day got me out of the house. Rather than visit my mother or putt around the apartment, I decided to head north, to the Chicago suburb of Skokie, and stop by a book sale.

I've lied to my mother about Father's Day since I can remember. I never wished I could celebrate this day proper, but I play it up like I do every year. "I hate this day. I hate Father's Day." When I was younger I would say the same thing, except the periods would be exclamation marks. No one hates Father's Day because no one cares about Father's Day.

There's something wrong with my 7-day pass. When I put it in the card machine (there's gotta be another word for the thing, not slot machine, obviously, but it's like a slot machine, maybe it's a card reader, but that would seem to be a better name for the machines that are outside the turnstiles at El stops to add money and check the balance) it reads 'INVALID' or "See Attendant: Code 43." It's not a big problem on the bus, the expiration date and time is clearly listed, but El stations are a little more problematic. An attendant was not on duty at the Chicago Brown/Purple line station at 3pm on a Sunday. Rather than miss the next train, I hopped the turnstile. While committing my crime, the speakers blared the automated message "An attendant is needed on the northbound platform. An attendant is needed on the northbound platform." I hid behind a pole before an attendant made it up the stairs.

I've been waiting for the #97 Skokie bus for 30 minutes. The book sale ends in an hour. It's looking like I'm not going to a book sale in Skokie.

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I made the book sale. It was held outside of a mall in a large tent. The tent was the size of four football fields (Why are football fields used to comprehend the size of something large? If you've ever been on a football field you'll realize that four football fields are big but not gigantic. For those that haven't been on the field, it sounds bigger than most city blocks.). The sale stayed open an hour later due to demand and due to an overstock of books. The more books available meant the most books to take back to the library and that's good for no one. The fair stayed open an hour later, the prices were cut in half and I had an hour and ten minutes to walk around. I hit fiction first. I grabbed any book by Hemingway, Bellow and any other writer I enjoy. I took any book that would fit in my pocket. I took any book I heard I might like in the last five years. There wasn't a lot of books to take. After fiction I hit sports.

My girlfriend doesn't like me reading books about baseball. I understand her reasons. I tend to talk about baseball for the duration of the reading and the month following. If the book leads me to another book about baseball, I'll continue for even longer. For example, after reading "Money Ball" (which is awesome and I know believe in sabermetrics) I was recommended "Three Nights in August" and talked to anyone that would lend an ear about the Cubs straddling between sabermetrics and old school scoutery. My girlfriend did not want to hear this. She enjoys the Cubs, goes to games with me, gladly watches them on television and listens to Santo rant, but she doesn't enjoy the theory of baseball. Or I should say she doesn't like hearing me go on and on about my theory on why middle relief is indeed important.

I found the Jose Canseco book, "Juiced", in the sports section. I bought the book. I started the book on the bus ride home. I finished the book within two days. The book was so bad it was good. The argument for steroids made no sense. The reasons behind not fucking Madonna did make sense. I did not see that one coming. Canseco blamed his wife for the fights they had, claimed to love his child above all, wanted the reader to know that he totally kicked ass and would still be kicking ass if Major League Baseball had any balls and he is Cuban. Did you know people hate Cubans? Well, they certainly do! Especially Cuban baseball players! That's why everyone wanted him out of the game! Not poor performance! Racist!

Canseco said his father didn't care enough about Jose. Dad went to his games, but wasn't affectionate. His mother provided that role. Yet another Father's Day and yet another time I was glad I did not have a father.

Upon finishing "Juiced" I tried to pawn it off on a friend. No one wanted to read this modern day classic. So it's behind the television, buried beneath wires, cables, cat hair and packing peanuts. Let me know if you want it. I'm sure my girlfriend will be glad to have it out of the house.