My father called me again last night. I was sitting at the computer, working on my English paper when the phone rings and you can't imagine my surprise when I looked at the caller ID and saw it was my dad. At first I got worried that something had happened--ridiculous, isn't that? To assume a tragedy when your father calls? Well, there was no emergency. Mom was out for the night and so dad was alone, making himself a big juicy burger and thought of me. So we made yummy noises over the phone and talked about food, dad's specialties and that we ought to have hot pastrami sandwhiches this weekend. Then we talked about the house, its progress, when it might be done (early January, he says), when our house will be put on the market (after Christmas), and then I told him how Kris and I wanted to get a place next year so we talked about that, too. It was so nice, talking to my daddy. When I lived at home sometimes he would come into my room when I was sitting around and would just flop onto my bed, pet the dog and casually strike up a conversation with me, even if it was about nothing and didn't last very long. My father is truly the most mysterious person I know. I've been trying to figure him out for years and years. It's easy to think you've got him pegged, but then he does something or says something that makes you re-evaluate your assumptions.