• Who: Mom, Dad, Dan, Ron, Carol (Ron’s wife), Ron/Carol’s daughter/grandson
• Where: Hotel Deluxe (used to be the Mallory)—Portland
• What: Eggwhite omelet with mushrooms, onions and avocado, potatoes, coffee

It takes a long time to realize that your parents are real people. We all know in our heads that our parents are human and imperfect and not put on this planet simply to ask us why our bed isn’t made and give us allowance until we’re 12 (and later occasionally pay our phone bill when we’re unemployed). It doesn’t really sink in that our parents are actual peers with real personalities and thoughts and opinions and feelings that are kind of like ours until we see one of them do something like lick the maple syrup from their plate when they think nobody is looking, or get into a screaming fight with their own mom about whether or not they need a haircut before Aunt Claire’s wedding. Someone might as well make a section in US Weekly for everyone under the age of 30 that says PARENTS!!!! THEY’RE JUST LIKE US!!!! with photos of old people drinking coffee and wearing sweatpants and waiting in the airport for a delayed flight. It would be a best seller.

For me, the parents as real people thing has been a very recent revelation that I still forget about from time to time, which is probably only worsened by the fact that our primarily phone relationship usually involves at least one of us having to dramatically end each conversation with loud screams after a near miss with oncoming traffic. The best part of this newish revelation, though, has been observing my parents, aka real people, interacting with other parents, aka real people, and realizing that it’s not really that different from how I interact with, let’s say, my friends, or my colleagues, or that girl at the gym. So imagine the jolt that was incited when I watched my dad have brunch  at Gracie’s with his buddy Ron [left] on Sunday. And not just a normal friend, but his best friend! PARENTS!!! THEY’RE JUST LIKE US!!! THEY HAVE BEST FRIENDS, TOO!

Ron, a superior court judge up in Seattle, and my dad [right] became friends when they were about my age now.  Two dudes, just out of grad school, living together in a group house over by Green Lake. Hanging out, drinking beers, driving to parties in their crappy cars… at least that’s what I can now translate from my mom’s lifetime explanation of  “Dad and Ron were roommates when they started their first jobs, which was before we got married.” Ummm, no fooling me because I know exactly what it was like—take away facebook and a cell phone and you have the 1970something version of, well, me and all my friends five years ago.  

So yeah, it was pretty weird seeing Ron  and Dad (or for the purposes of him being a real person, Ken) hanging out at the table, laughing at crazy inside jokes and generally goofing around. Wasn’t one of them supposed to be giving the other allowance? Or telling someone to get a haircut?  Or getting mad because you hadn’t cleaned for the cleaning lady? I guess all that goes out the window when realize your mom just really did lick her plate when she thought nobody was watching.