Under his spell

On the phone with my mom this evening she was recalling all of the funny little things my niece, Paige, said and did while staying with her and Popi Saturday night. To onlookers in Literati, I was the imbecile in the corner with the phone glued to her ear, silently grinning off into space. I love Paige stories and so I was drinking in the details of how she snuck into my mom's office, got on her computer and deleted a file before being discovered. Well done, young one!

Then Popi got on the phone to disclose that Paige and mom had decorated Christmas cookies and that each cookie was now buried under approximately 4 pounds of sprinkles. He says it as though this is an unbelievable atrocity to cookies the world over, but I can hear the smile behind the sarcasm.

Later, when mom tells me that Paige wants to know where Popi (or Papa, to her) is at all times, my smile gets bigger. And I can't help but laugh out loud when she says in disbelief, "She actually said to me, 'Gam, where's Papa?' and I told her I wasn't sure, so she said, 'Well, I better see what he's up to!' She said that Sara! And then she trotted off looking for him in the porch!"


And so it is that another female has fallen victim to my father's charm.

Popi has been the only man living with females since whenever it was that his older brother left their childhood home decades ago. Poor guy has been outnumbered by sisters, a mother, wife, daughters, dolls, bows, New Kids on The Block paraphernalia, curling irons, handbags, shoe collections, tubes of lip gloss and all other things girlie. Even our pet gerbils and fish growing up were always female. He's spent the majority of his life with all of us following him around, shouting out "POPI" whenever we couldn't find him. And lord knows he's seen more than his fair share of dance recitals, synchronized swimming competitions and gymnastics meets.

With me and Teen out of the house for a few years now, I think he got used to the semi-solitude of only having to hide from my mom if he wanted some alone time. But now there is Paige, and it starts all over.

His secret is that he's indifferent. Most of the time he's puttering about the house doing his own thing, not hunting you down. He has a routine of grabbing the paper and going for a morning coffee and on Sundays during nice weather he's golfing with his group of 3 other troublemakers. So, if you want to talk to him or spend time with him, it's up to you to track him down. It's like that act that singles try as an attraction mechanism - hanging back, acting uninterested in order to pique your interest in them - except he means it.

This is a man whom I can't recall having picked up the phone to call me since 1999. He just waits for me to call home demanding that my mother put him on and is then ecstatic to hear my voice - his voice letting me know it's about damn time I called him. Ahh, my complex Popi.

It helps that he's sweet, witty, kind, giving, funny, gentle, sharp, easy to talk to, able to converse with squirrels and birds through a bizarre series of whistles and is on the list of World's Best Huggers. So Paige follows in the footsteps of me, Teen, mom, the pets (they always liked him best) and countless other women in the greater Twin Cities area. It was only a matter of time. He is the flower, we are the bees.

And so to little Paige, a few weeks shy of her third birthday and at this moment sound asleep somewhere in freezing cold Minnesota, I say, "Welcome to the Popi Fan Club." It's no surprise that you've joined; he's a good Papa to you.

However, wee Paige, my own insecurities urge me to remind you that while you are obviously much cuter, I'm his first born, and therefore, clear favorite.

A little something I've been trying to remind him of ever since I was two and Teen came along to share my spotlight.

It's just lucky for you all that I like you enough to share him. Very lucky, indeed.