My father would often remind us of how "spoiled we kids were," and of how "lucky we had it." We were told over and over how "he had to work when he was our age" - how "his job was shoveling chicken shit out of chicken coops" - how "by six years old, he smoked, drank, swore, and had been sent to a shrink." How could I compete with that?
This legendary story had been told many times over the years - his age getting younger with each recital. As I "lazily" floated - watching clouds do the same - I knew I should be doing something more constructive than observing puffs of condensed water vapor enter and exit my field of vision - something more productive than counting horseflies sipping droplets of chlorinated water from the rim of my inner tube. But, I also knew, had I started that very minute - working every day for the rest of my life - never could I eclipse my father's prison-movie childhood. So, instead, I "lazily" floated - imagining him as a six year old, a toddler, an infant shoveling chicken crap - cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth, and whiskey scented swearwords spilling from the other.
This legendary story had been told many times over the years - his age getting younger with each recital. As I "lazily" floated - watching clouds do the same - I knew I should be doing something more constructive than observing puffs of condensed water vapor enter and exit my field of vision - something more productive than counting horseflies sipping droplets of chlorinated water from the rim of my inner tube. But, I also knew, had I started that very minute - working every day for the rest of my life - never could I eclipse my father's prison-movie childhood. So, instead, I "lazily" floated - imagining him as a six year old, a toddler, an infant shoveling chicken crap - cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth, and whiskey scented swearwords spilling from the other.*an excerpt from my cancer memoir CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER
1 comment:
This, my dear, is hilarious.
No pacifier for that worker bee. And no need to tap the ash. It'll fall on its own, what with the heavy breathing in that accompanies such toil and trouble.
I love those stories that morph with age, getting more ruddy by the year.
Not two days before now I was looking up out of a window at the sky doing something I'd never seen it do before: produce the initial fluff for soon to be substantial clouds out of pure blue, in the span of time no more than one minute. 30 seconds even, maybe less. It was awesome.
I remember asking a friend, "Have you ever watched clouds disappear?" She didn't know you could witness this phenomenon, but having been a beach bum in an early portion of my life, I'd seen it enough to know it weren't the sun working on me brain in funny ways.
But this was, I do believe, the first time I'd seen them born and raised into a decent age of growth, well on their way to getting bloated and belly-heavy. But that happened out of view from my window.
I was perfectly content to see this part of the process. The rest I've seen before, many times.
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