Just moments ago, your dad texted to inform you of Carl Reiner’s passing, demonstrating a remarkable consistency in his custom of learning about celebrity deaths two days after they become widespread public information.
“The message arrived just in time for him,” you report. “He’s always been this way. Prince, Robin Williams, even Michael Jackson, which like, how could you have missed that for 48 hours?”
“One of my earliest childhood memories is actually my dad announcing that Selena had died about two days after I first heard my mom talking about it,” you add.
In adult life, your dad’s practice generally involves texting you the news that is just barely still news, along with an article from when it actually happened, and, in notable cases, a brief obituary of his own creation.
“It’s just a mystery to me,” you say. “Does he not have the same Internet as me? I don’t think I could not immediately find out about a celebrity death if I tried.”
“Does he subscribe to some news source I don’t know about that just really takes its time to process the passing of public figures?”
But as confusion abounds, there are no signs your dad will ever learn about celebrity deaths sooner or anticipate that since he is late to the news, you may already know what he is about to tell you with the urgent authority of an on-the-scene reporter.
“Maybe I should just start telling him about celebrity deaths as soon as they happen, but I don’t really want to be the bearer of that news,” you say. “In fact, why is he always so eager to tell me when he finds out days later? Why are dads always so eager to tell you the news in general?”
Despite some frustration, you’ve mostly come to accept your dad’s unique practice.
“Honestly, I respect his ability to obstinately remain in a world where the news cycle doesn’t refresh every five hours,” you say. “I wish I knew his secret.”
Sources report the secret is not being on Twitter 12 hours a day.