Answer: What is Fun?

Last week sometime, I was sitting at the dinner table, innocently gnawing on some corn on the cob, and my father and I are having some argument or another as usual. We tend to have differing opinions on a lot of things. He thinks I'm a smartass, but I just think we both sometimes like to argue for the sake of arguing. Dad plays devil's advocate, preys on the gullible, and enjoys getting people worked up and then just walking away from the argument while you're there still breathing heavily. (This makes him sound really terrible, but really, it's all in good fun, usually.) I'm not usually as gullible as other members of my family, but I'm also incredibly capable of hurting his feelings without realizing it. Hence, why he calls me a smartass.

So, this particular night, we were arguing about one of his favorites...my piano abilities. He thinks I'm the world's greatest or something, but he's my father. He's supposed to think that. And he refuses to accept that I've resigned piano into the hobby portion of my life. I don't want more lessons, and I certainly don't want to make myself into a performer.

Anyway, he finally says, "You know what I think, Nat? I've been thinking this for years but never said anything."
"What's that?" I ask.
"You know what your problem is? You don't know how to have fun."

He placed a certain emphasis on this word, "fun." It was the all too familiar tone of voice that said, "Dad is looking to get you riled up." I took the bait.

"What do you mean?"
"You don't know how to have fun with it. You always play that classical stuff. You don't ever loosen up and play a little rhythm and blues and sing."
"I don't usually choose what I play, but it doesn't matter. I enjoy most of the pieces," I protested.
"No, you don't. You don't let loose and you know, play!" He rolled his shoulders in motions along to some imaginary music.

I rolled my eyes. There was no way for me to explain to him the complexities of his accusation. It was something only a music person would understand. Not to mention, his argument made no sense. If he wanted me to have fun, why did he also insist that I should play piano for some sort of living?

However, he continued to move on to criticize my taste in books. Again, he focused on the fact that I didn't read anything for fun. I read everything because I "need" to, or am "expected" to, because they're classics. He might have had some sort of point there, but I wasn't about to admit it to him. So, I left the room saying, "I'm gonna go work on putting more fun in my life." He laughed and switched on the news. (And he thinks I don't know how to have fun.)

It's this running joke between us now. "Jane Austen," he reads on the spine of my book.
"Sorry it isn't fun enough for you," I say sarcastically.
And he laughs, and you can tell he's thinking, "My daughter is a smartass," but sometimes, he's kind enough not to say it out loud.