Are we over the substance abuse shit? Can we say this yet? Well, OK: Why my father is in fact awesome despite the fact that it took me years of therapy and disorder to get over everything he used to put upon me:
1) Walking around town, Mother asks me, “Why do you carry such a big bag around with you?”
“So she can carry beer in it,” Father says, “high five.” (Do I high five him? My father high fives at every opportunity. My mother is, periodically, ready to send me to a drug and alcohol detox clinic after all she has seen and heard). So my hand action’s half hearted, but only for the greater show of mother.
2) “The Smiths? The Smiths are music for Special People,” Father says.
3) “I’m turning on the lamp for a second,” Father says. “Do I turn it right, or left?” Ok. So he turns it right after I affirm direction for luminosity, lights up the room, brings his shoe into our sitting area, seats himself, takes a massive drag from his smoke, exhales into the shoe. We all watch the smoke float from the shoe. “What’s this?” He asks and we ask him what, still watching the exiting smoke puff from the shoe.
“An Iraqi waiting for the bus,” Father says.
And a little after I die, I start to believe my mother when she says, “You have a personality just like your father. It’s uncanny.”
We mimic our crazed oppressors? Well. I fucking guess so. An Iraqi waiting for the bus? There's no way a person could regret saying that in the morning. Which is why he's my father.
an iraqi waiting for the bus.
an iraqi waiting for the bus.
your dad deserves every high-five he wants: in fact, he may deserve every high five ever.
Posted by: graeme at August 1, 2006 11:47 PMI love Stan. He's the wackiest father ever. I wish my father was that wacky. Alas, he he is merely crazy. (Even the oppression hs worn off over the years.)
Posted by: Edmorus at August 2, 2006 2:08 AMAnd so politically astute. If not correct. Astute. Go Szpakdad.
My open mouthed silent laugh was enjoyable.
Posted by: Xavier at August 2, 2006 7:49 AM