Sometimes I feel like a foreign exchange student in the South. I can live and function here, but I will never be assimilated. Yesterday was one of those days. People who have never been to Florida or have never spent much time here do not realize that it is in the south. Yes look at a map and trust me when I tell you this is the south.


So travelers I will give you a rule of thumb. The further away from the interstate and the ocean you venture, the less likely this place looks like a postcard. I had one such adventure yesterday when I went to visit my father. I have been putting off seeing him because he lives in Ocala. It is pretty much as far away from the ocean as you can get and still be in Florida. I was way out of my comfort zone.

A long time ago my Dad and I came to an understanding. I’ve owned a few pick up trucks and gone on a few fishing trips, but beyond that I must be a huge disappointment to a father who sounds like Foghorn Leghorn. I remember spending hours shooting tin cans while he went hunting because I absolutely refused to shoot at a living thing. I remember how my father (and my step-father) would take other kids under their wing because they showed the slightest interest in football, car repair or gun shows.

My few attempts to really enjoy bonding time ended in me leaning over the side of a boat vomiting or worse yet being completely ignored. I didn’t understand the men in my life and they didn’t understand me. Now flash forward a few years. I’m probably the only guy who learned the rules of football from his girlfriend when he was 30. Everyone around me knows I know squat about import or domestic beers and field scrimmages.

So yesterday my Dad wanted to introduce me to his friends. We went over to their house twice and both times he wanted to drive. Eventually I caught on he was ashamed of my compact car. Yes to the average neck, I look like I drive Mr. Bean’s car. That is if the average neck ever watched PBS. I knew within minutes of arriving that I wasn’t going to fit in with these folks. Their many dogs were very friendly and one in particular kept bringing me a stick to throw.

I tossed that stick with all my might 3 times and by my final attempt the lady of the house made the astute observation that I “didn’t play much baseball.” It didn’t take long for Dad to realize I wasn’t going to win his friends over. I don’t drink or smoke and I’ve even recently given up caffeine. I drive a sub-compact car and probably know more about “Avenue Q” than the Pittsburgh Steelers. I take a couple of showers a day and go nowhere without hand sanitizer.

So perhaps my dad realized it was a lost cause, because he asked to borrow some scissors from his friends so I could cut his hair. Thank God I’m engaged to a woman, because between being the family hair dresser, lacking any knowledge of sports or catalytic converters and working in an office, I wasn’t making any friends here.

So after I gave Dad a very snazzy haircut (which he promptly covered with a trucker hat)I got back on the road and made my way back to big city. As I navigated the back country roads I was careful to not go 1 mile over the speed limit and summon the wrath of the infamous “Redneck Sheriff” we see in every Hollywood stereotype. As the miles ticked by I couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a nice Jewish family somewhere in Queens with a 30 year old son who has an inexplicable love of NASCAR and country music. Perhaps there is also a stork somewhere trying to live down his career ending delivery some 30 years ago.