My father serves to remind me that I would make a pretty lousy one myself. We dont have much interest in each other. Im not a good son, either. Maybe in this way I serve to remind him that he wasnt a good son either. I dont know. We dont speak. I do know him and Grandad didnt get along great. Until later in life, when everybody forgives each other. Right now though, Dad is letting me stay in his storage space. But resents it. Hes putting a roof over my head. While I think he lives a sheltered life. He thinks Im drifting through mine, I think his is devoid of passion or imagination. My parents arrived here from a generation that couldnt escape being parents. I dont think my Dad ever wanted to be one. I know it from the inside out. He is so much like me its no wonder I dont like him. I know what Im hiding. Emotional fraudulence. Self preoccupation. I dont think my Dad is a bad man though. Just a matter of timing~ He got the fifties, I had the eighties, I got not have kids in my twenties. I am never going to grow up. and I will never be a parent. Last week at work there was a heavily intoxicated man locked out of his room. When we went to open his door he started licking the floor in the hallway to demonstrate to me he was feeling okay. My father worries I will end up in a rooming house like that myself, and has said so. Dont what ambitions he ever had for me though, in contrast. He got a bit of saliva on me, I mean the drunk guy did, when he got off that filthy floor. I think he had psych issues. I think if I had a son I do not know what I could tell him about the world I work around. As it is, the idea of making more people doesnt interest me . -Randall Stephens, July 2014
Posted on: Wed, 16 Jul 2014 12:48:32 +0000
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