Memoir
My Dad Is a Nudist
Some people retire and buy a Corvette. My dad retired and became a nudist.
“Sunglasses are made for an important reason. Do you know what that reason is?” my dad casually asks.
There’s something sexy about the thought of going to a nudist colony. It’s that secret sexy you always wanted to be. Careless, free-spirited, sexually confident.
That is, unless YOUR DAD is the nudist.
“Sunglasses are made so you can look at all the fake…”
I cut my dad off, nearly dropping my phone. I picture the mostly conservative businessmen in my father’s former firm discussing golf and politics over happy hour.
They’re NORMAL.
My dad is NOT.
And clearly, he’s gotten into the wine.
You see, my fun-seeking father has always taken to exploring the finer things in life: Illegal police lights on pickup trucks, verbal arguments with shitty drivers in parking lots, and of course, nudist colonies.
The nudist colony phase is the latest and greatest adventure on his list. This week’s stop is a five-star resort somewhere in Cali. I’m sure most of the people are in their 30s and 40s.
Dad is, well, old.
I hope the enlightening revelation is over.
It’s not. I mean REALLY not.
“This next nudist need is non-negotiable,” he adds, as if this is a typical Sunday evening conversation.
“And what exactly is that?” I ask, hoping the response will be short.
“You need a set of good towels. Not the crappy ones. Soft and fluffy,” he informs me in an authoritative tone. He sounds like a tour guide speaking at a convention for new nudists.
“Why?” I innocently ask.
“For naked dinner. Best part of the day.”
I can’t decide if naked dinner is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard or if I’m completely mortified.
Unfortunately, he continues.
“Yesterday, we got UNDRESSED to go to a new friend’s villa for dinner,” he proudly announces. “Turns out we’d met years ago in college. Awkward at first, with …”
TMI!!!!
I picture my conservative, suit-wearing father free balling it at dinner, reminiscing the glory days. I’m not sure why he’s having a midlife crisis when he’s OLD.
And then the kicker comes.
In truth, there’s never an inappropriate lecture without a reason. After all, retired power players seek the end result in all cases. Nudist colonies included.
“You really should try this. I’ll pay for you to go. It’s not weird. Very nice people,” he proudly states.
Nice naked people. Borderline creepy. Not normal has become curiously freakish.
Part of me wants to go. And part of me wants to block my dad until I can process this ridiculous conversion.
I change the subject as the all-too-familiar butterflies creep into my stomach. You see, there’s an annoying difference between my dad and me. Dad is calm, laid back, and in control.
I didn’t get that gift.
The older I get, the less adventurous I become; the older Dad gets, the more he pushes the boundaries of life. I’m surprised he hasn’t started a rock band, climbed Denali and become a stripper on the side.
“This too shall pass,” I thought. And it did. Only to be replaced with croquet camp. (And don’t worry, it wasn’t naked croquet camp.)
Truth be told, I got a little nervous when I visited him tonight. A song I had never heard came on his terrible nightly playlist that makes my ears want to bleed.
He looked at his girlfriend Jen, and then looked at me. It was THAT look.
“We dance to this nude every night,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Long pause.
“I’m kidding, Suzanne!”
