As my dad and I became more comfortable in communicating, we began to share more experiences. My dad was prolific at rolling joints and showed me his scissor technique for crushing weed with maximum speed. I would show him my methods for rolling blunts, and we would celebrate each exchange of knowledge with a smoke session. With Netflix going digital, we found a huge archive of movies and shows we had yet to watch and made the effort to break them in together. One particular night, I walked in and can hear his laughter from the upstairs entrance. I head toward him to identify the reason for this commotion and find “Jesus Christ: Superstar” on the TV. Barely able to speak, my dad laughed his way through the words, “they got the fucking devil in a 3-piece suit”. I break out into laughter, realizing the absurdity of a 3-piece suit during the biblical time of Jesus Christ’s existence. This moment would set the tone for that night, just like many other nights, during my dad’s visits to Hart Street. We smoked. We ate. We laughed. I was given moments with him that I missed growing up, and with the church now in my rearview mirror, I only looked to what was ahead of me.
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