May 9, 2067

Dad has decided to get rid of HomeMovie. Honestly, I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did. I’ve been watching it in my room almost every night, but he’s pulling the plug tomorrow, so that enjoyment is almost over.

He came into my room as the credits to the new Nolan movie- an no, not Christopher Nolan, but his grandson or great grandson or something like that. Not as good as the Christopher Nolan movies I’ve seen, but he’s still learning.

Anyway, Dad didn’t knock before he came through the door.

“You know, you could knock,” I said.

“Why would I do that?” he asked in mock ignorance. “I never do that.”

“Yeah, and it’s annoying. It’s my room.”

“My house.”

“God, Dad. You sound like those old timey dads that are always made fun of on TV now.”

“You watch TV? Well golly gee, here I was thinking all you did was spend my money watching new movies. How long has this one even been out?”

“Like four hours.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the new Nolan. Cedra! You know I wanted to watch that with you.”

“Sorry. You and Mom were talking.”

“Yeah. About getting rid of this stupid thing. I thought it would let us have more family time. How’d you get around the lock I put on the account?”

“Oh, uh,” I stuttered. “You know.”

Protip: You can use pictures to get through the eye lock on some technologies. You just need the right framing and expression. I’m lucky enough Dad is trying to keep up with the new fangled computers and internet media that he doesn’t check this blog. So, nobody tell him.

“So you’re getting rid of HomeMovie?” I asked, a little sad.

“Yep. Looks like we’re going back to just waiting for them to show up on On Demand.” He hid his mouth in the crook of his elbow and coughed a few times. “Oh, and by the way. Mom wants us to have a movie marathon next weekend. Have you seen those old Harry Potter movies?”

“No. We only have them on those disc things. How can I play them?”

“Oh, sweet daughter. Get ready for a blast from the past. This is going to be eighteen hours of pure epicness that you will never be able to forget. Even I grew up watching these movies, and I was born ten years after the last one came out.” He stood up and ruffled my hair. “You’re going to love it.”

“Please knock next time you come in,” I said as he started to close the door.

“What’s the worst I could walk in on?”

“Come on, Dad. It’s the sixties. I could be doing anything in here. Watching porn. Selling the house from under you. Smoking.”

“Ah yes. So the next time I see wisps of smoke curling from under your door, I’ll know you’re trying to kill me faster than I’m already dying. Who knows, maybe I’ll see you in Heaven sooner than I’d want to if you make it a habit.”

“Or maybe I’ll beat you there because Mom will kill me.”

“Atta girl. Stay afraid. And let me know how selling the house goes,” he laughed as he closed the door.

Maybe I should be weary that he makes jokes about dying. I know Mom always pushes at his arm and starts to cry when he makes them around her. Maybe it’s his way of coping with the unstoppable? Maybe I take part because joking is the only way of facing it before it happens?