Beautiful, Part II

The parents called from Italy this morning.

My mother still thinks that long distance technology is stuck in the 1960s, so after a few minutes of listening to her yell through the receiver, I was duly passed to my more-reasonably-toned father.

"Brutta!" he bellowed down the line.

I giggled and answered, "Hi, pappino!"

Brutta, as you may or may not know, is the Italian word for "ugly".

My father and I have had the same schtick for years. When I was little, he would come into the house and call out, "Brutta!" I would pretend to be all upset and then (if he wasn't too dusty), I'd give him a hug and a kiss.

My mother might sometimes interject with a "You know he doesn't mean that, right?"

I'd usually give her the big eyeroll before adding, "Of course he doesn't!"

Interestingly, I never once doubted that my father thought I was the most beautiful girl in the world, but until a few years ago, I truly believed that if she could, my mother would change what I look like and who I am.

It took a very long time for me to understand how my mother truly feels about me - and I'm glad to have made it here.

But how did it happen that I only questioned my mother and never my father? Can it be chalked up to the always difficult mother-daughter relationship? Or is it more to do with the father-daughter relationship?

Thoughts?