It can frustrate me to no end when I point out small animals and large monuments from the car window driving through remote bad lands of Wyoming (I KNOW) when you don’t look, cause I know we ain’t turning around. I’ll stop 10 times an hour for boy/girl break, wineSIP, picture clicks and new air, but turning around and going BACK physically hurts. So when you mumble ‘mm-hmm’ without so much as looking at the deer and the antelope plain, I feel the minutes making me older.
* * *
I didn’t know how important presentation was in food until I fell in love. Food with good presentation is like making love to someone you love, versus groping towards completion with some strange person-like creature in a basement at a party to which you weren’t invited. Oh, the difference, pretty princess. Yesterday, I ate a tuna fish on white with a plastic cup full o’boxed wine. I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be over quickly.
I can afford better. Money’s not the issue. So much as nostalgia. Addiction.
* * *
I’m older. Yesterday, Tristan pushed his bowl of soup towards you and said, ‘I need more details, please.’
‘What the hell is he talking about?’
‘I think he wants more carrots.’
‘What are details?’
Tristan says, ‘Details are extras, Dad.’
‘Give the man more details,’ I says.
* * *
I came across a web directory that described HERE as a ‘Diary from a father not interested in fatherhood.’ I mentioned this to her, and that I was in uttercomplete agreement. Sometimes I hate being a father. Tormented by girls out there who describe happy times and daddy-daughter dates and being made to feel special, and the measures don’t measure up. Sorry for the sobs,* but no man has ever put his arms around me and said ‘love ya, kid, let’s go build a tree fort,’ and all that. So my affection feels like groping.
‘Dad, will you sleep with me tonight?’
‘Go ahead, he’s scared. The power went out.’
‘Sure, buddy. But if you roundhouse kick me to the face, I’m throwing you from the bunk, punk.’
He laughs, ‘HAHAHAHAHAHA!’
; )
I’m not interested in Fatherhood.
* for example of proper parenting, please visit Jessica.
* * *
I called him today because he fell ill.
‘Dad, I got the pink-eye.’
HAHAHAHA!
‘It’s not nice to laugh.’
‘One day you’ll understand, Tristan. I’m not really laughing. You just make me smile, that’s all.’
‘Mom says I have to get eye drops. Will they hurt?’
‘Yeah, sorry. Those pink-eye-drops are like rage-cream. Not even terrorists will touch the stuff.’
‘DAAAAD!’
* * *
Dear Future Partner Of My Daughter,
Naya loses allsenseE whenever she finds ink dispenserage. Usually lying around, or digging through my pockets.
‘I want paPER,’ she yells.
I carry a little notepad, my Marble Memo. But I am on the last sheet. The wine prohibits my movements.
‘Here,’ I hand her my arm.
Dear Future Partner,
When you find yourself fortunate enough to lie as her canvas, please lie still. She loves you, but will not tolerate movement, and you have become depersonified momentarily, but you’ll find the effort worth every second. Take quick breaths when she lifts her pen to complete new circles. Don’t talk to her until she’s done, and you’ll know she’s done when she stops grunting and puts down the pen and walks away, no longer interested in the myriad lines and shapes. Don’t wash them off. It’s part of the deal.
Don’t try to tell me that you’ve given a little, so she should, too.
With these kinds of friendships, the last thing you want to do is settle accounts.
* * *
I tell him, ‘There are ten body parts of only three letters.’
He thinks for a bit, and giggles.
‘None of the words ends with the letter S.’
/still giggling
‘Nor T!’
He leaves, suddenly bored with the game.
* * *
I’m not interested in Fatherhood.
One day you ask him if he wants to bunk, and he says, ‘No.’
A week goes by, and you ask again.
‘No. I’m too big for that, now.’
And then you realize you celebrated a final day (milestone) a few weeks back without even knowing it. That's how I celebrate milestones, now, naively, in oblivion. For granted.
* * *
‘What was it?’
‘If you had looked, you’d KNOW!’
‘Well, just turn around.’
‘There ain’t no turnin’ back, princess. Next time, look, okay? Please?’
/smiles
‘Oh, don’t smile.’
/laughs
‘Fine, we’ll turn around. Just this once.’
Mille Stones
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Powered by Blogger.
No comments:
Post a Comment