Cat's In the Cradle

NOTE: Those of you who are familiar with Harry Chapin's music will know where this blog post title comes from...

I need a new cell phone. Not only is mine an antiquated thing the size of a brick (green screen, the "Snake" game, and the old Nokia ring tone -- enough said), it's stopped holding a charge for longer than a few hours. I don't want some fancy thing with more gadgets than I can use, but I'd at least like something a little more up-to-date. A camera phone wouldn't be too bad, or something that could hold a Star Wars ringtone...

Okay, I'm getting off track here. But the old cell phone did get things started.

I'm at the computer banging my head over the next chapter of "Walk Like Men" when the Nokia ring tone finally manages to work itself through the full-volume "Halloween" marathon the twins have got going and beep its way into my brain. I grab the phone, have a look at the Caller ID... and groan.

"What is it?" asks Vader, looking over from his own computer.

"It's my dad," I reply. "Do I have to answer?"

"Yes," he replies, turning back to his laptop.

"Since when did you take his side?" I demand.

"I don't like the man," he answers, not looking away from the screen. "But I think you need to maintain a relationship with him. He is still your father."

I sigh. Leave it to the man who's a walking plethora of father issues -- on several fronts -- to tell me I need to talk to my own dad. I hit the "Talk" button and answer.

I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say it wasn't pretty. And my fossil of a cell phone nearly got chucked at a wall after we hung up.

"Maintain a relationship, huh, Darth?" I fire at the ex-Sith.

"At least you're trying," he admits.

"Trying to what?" someone asks.

I turn, expecting one of Rose's live-ins or someone from my crew. Instead, I see a fat, gray creature with a round white head reminiscent of one of the Zoloft-commercial critters, broad feet like an elephant's, and a whiny sort of voice that would put Luke Skywhiner to shame. He holds a notebook in one hand and looks at me with a puzzled expression on his perpetually downcast face.

"Hey Strong Sad," I tell him. "What are you doing here?"

"I was elected -- or should I say drafted? -- to come here and give you a status report on the farm and the still-enteched," he replies, handing me the notebook. The report is neatly written in a strange gothic script, his typical handwriting.

"Thanks," I reply. Strong Sad is a member of the crew from Homestar Runner, Strong Bad's younger brother, and probably the least insane and annoying of the lot despite his penchant for whining and moping (hence his name). Often a target for frequent pummelling and cruel jokes, he makes Eeyore from "Winnie the Pooh" seem as upbeat as Weird Al. Despite this, I kind of like the guy and feel sorry for his status as low man on the totem pole among his crowd, having been there myself years ago.

"What were you trying to do?" he asks, glancing at my cell phone.

"Trying to talk to my dad," I sigh. "He wants to know why we don't talk or meet much, why I don't seem to like him."

"I know you love your father," Vader puts in, turning in his chair.

"Deep down, somewhere, WAAAAAY deep," quips Grievous from his perch on the back of the sofa close by.

Vader ignores him. "Simply because you love someone, however, doesn't mean you like them. And often it is easy to hate those you love, because when they do you wrong, the pain is far deeper than a wrong committed by someone you don't like."

I sigh. "I just... wish Dad would like me for who I am. He seems to resent having a daughter who's a geek, who does things like dress as Darth Vader and write fanfic and get in long-winded debates with people over who dies in the next Harry Potter book. And it seems to me like he really wants to change that and make me a 'proper young lady,' whatever that means. I wish he'd accept me as who I am... obsessions and quirks and all."

Strong Sad reaches up and rubs the back of his head absently. "You know... it sounds like me and my brothers. I mean... they're always doing weird stuff with computers and going around pulling pranks and pummeling people... and I sit in my room and listen to music and write poetry and play board games with myself. And sometimes... you know... I think maybe they'd appreciate me more if I was like them. But I'm Strong Sad. I can't change who I am. And I just wish they'd see that..."

I reach out and pat his arm. "You know you have friends here, Strong Sad. And we don't care if you're different. Heck, compared to some of the people I've met here and elsewhere, you're halfway normal. Elephant feet and all."

Strong Sad's mouth twitches, almost smiling. But then he sighs and turns to Vader. "I've got to be heading back. Any chance I can get a ride from someone?"

"Inquire of Rose and Prime," Vader replies. "I'm certain they can help you out."

"Thanks." He walks off.

"Poor guy," I note.

"He will be fine," Vader assures me. "I'm certain that, for all they torment him, his brothers do care for him and would help him out in a crisis."

"I wonder if my father would help ME out in a crisis," I wonder aloud.

Vader tosses something at me, and I instinctively catch it and have a look.

"Watch it," he orders. "Then answer your own question."

I sigh and pocket the Return of the Jedi DVD. Sometimes I wonder if my whole Vader obsession didn't stem from my own issues with my father. That would explain SOOOOO much...