I don't usually call my dad, as it's an international call, there's a time difference and I get to talk to him on the weekends - he and my mom will get on the speakerphone to reaffirm we can bicker the way we did during the high school years. But sometimes I feel like telling him something ("Maybe you and Mommy need to get off Eric's back..."), so I'll call him at work. Like last night...

Jen: Hi, may I speak to Paul Chung?
Receptionist: Who is calling?
Jen: Jennifer Chung...his daughter.
Receptionist: Who?
Jen: Paul's daughter, Jennifer.
Receptionist: Okay, let me see...please hold.
[Holding for 3 minutes]
Receptionist: I'm sorry, he is on another call. May I take a message?
Jen: Okay. This is his daughter, Jennifer.
Receptionist: What is your name?
Jen: Jennifer Chung. C-H-U-N-G. Like Paul Chung. He's my father.
Receptionist: Jennifer Cheng?
Jen: Chung! Like Paul Chung. I'm his daughter, he's my father. He's my dad! He's my baba.
Receptionist: Um, okay.
Jen: Really, Paul Chung is my dad.

Of course, my dad called two minutes later, saying I should have been transferred, etc., he wasn't really on the phone, the receptionist doesn't usually deal with English speaking callers. I guess it could have been my fault and all, being a Twinkie-Asian-American-Fobabee hybrid, but it totally played into my paranoia about who I am.

My dad is an environmental consultant. His work is pretty cool.