Bohemian Rhapsody (Part I)

Communications Breakdown
As I continued on I-24 through the heart of Chattanooga, I was carefully scanning the freeway signs for Manufacturer's Road, my designated exit.

"Do you see it yet?"

"Not yet. I'm just now passing the Central Ave. exit. That's the one I've taken before to get to your dorm."

"Um, Central? That doesn't ring a bell. You did take the downtown split when you first came into town didn't you?"

"Well, yeah I guess so. It's the same way Mom and I have always come before."

"Okay," she said. "Is there a bridge up ahead of you?"

"Yeah...looks like there is — yeah, I see it," I said, hoping I was seeing what she thought I was seeing. The problem was, the bridge to which I had referred was merely an overpass above a low-lying area. The bridge Amy was referring to was a bridge that spans the Tennessee River.

"Okay, I'm crossing the bridge. Still don't see any signs for Manufacturer's."

"Well do you think you might have passed it?"

"There's no way I could have missed it!" I said tersely. I then began to feel the dread of the realization that I had now gone over my mileage allowance. I began to entertain visions of handfuls of five-dollar bills swirling down the toilet bowl. "Well...I'm going around the bend, heading out of town...(the very end portion of I-24 that bends due eastward just before its junction with I-75 to the southeast, heading towards Atlanta). Amy, where the hell is Manufacturer's Road?!"

"How the hell do I know," she shrieked. It should be there!"

"Uh, HELLOOO...you live here?" I deadpanned angrily.

We interrupt this classic father-daughter moment to spare you of the obvious. As I'm sure you can guess, this get-together didn't exactly get off to a great start. I got off at the next exit and headed back in the opposite direction. This time however, I took the downtown Chattanooga bypass I should have taken in the first place, but was never told to take.

Like I said...classic.

Once I found the now-infamous Manufacturer's Road exit, I was home free, right? WRONG. Needless to say, we were both so frustrated by that time that even more directional foul-ups occurred, either because I wasn't listening, or she wasn't explaining well enough. In reality, I think we were too busy sniping at each other for either one of us to think clearly.

I guess this might be a good time to describe my daughter.

Unlike her big brother, who almost completely resembles Michelle, Amy favors me quite a bit facially. The flame-red hair of her childhood has now been replaced by a gorgeous mane of thick, deep auburn. Her bright denim-blue eyes are framed by coal-black lashes so naturally long and thick that mascara is virtually unnecessary.

Aside from her flat feet, and pale skin-tone, she acquired everything else from her mother — from her hourglass figure to her beautiful smile — not to mention her the fiery temper. And when I finally pulled up to her apartment building, she wasn't smiling.

I quickly wanted to bury the hatchet. So I admitted...it was both our fault. After rolling her eyes, she deadpanned, "Well gimme a hug," and smiled. I kissed her cheek and squeezed her tightly

All was cool in Chattieland.


Next: The Apartment