I sit down here every night and ponder what to write, or better yet, what can I write without betraying trust. Fiction is always there, but when life is in the bin, I have trouble writing it. It’s not that it’s not there, it’s just that I can’t bring myself to write the things I should. Life effing blows for a lot of us these days. I try not to write when my own life is in the crapper, but sometimes we have to write what is in our hearts at that particular moment. The last thing I ever want to do is make someone feel worse than they did before reading a post or story of mine. That’s why there are occasional gaps in blog posting.
Hemingway once wrote, “The hardest thing to do is to write straight honest prose on human beings. First you have to know the subject; then you have to know how to write. Both take a lifetime to learn, and anybody is cheating who takes politics as a way out. All the outs are too easy, and the thing itself is too hard to do.”
I always liked Hemingway since reading him in school. His writing style reminded me of my grandad. My grandfather was an honest man that spoke straight from the heart. He was quiet and only scolded me when necessary. Both of my grandfathers were great men. I can only hope to be as good a father as either one of them were. My fathers father raised my dad on his own which was unheard of in the 60’s. He did it though. My fathers childhood is a book of its own, but Southerners are not allowed to share family secrets with the public.
My father is a god among men, or at least the opposite sex thinks so. He’s everyone’s hero, even mine on occasion. I’ve spoken at length before about him being a mogul. He’s also a helicopter pilot, an airplane pilot, and at one time, a drag racer. He had a VW Beetle as well. However, his Beetle had a 454 big block Chevy Alcohol motor in the front of it. His popularity comes from his gift of gab that obviously skipped me. Everyone loves the man until he gets done using them. Don’t misunderstand me, he’s not all bad. We all have our faults. I jokingly tell people that I had many mothers and fathers growing up. Growing up in a business environment usually means you don’t spend much time with your Mum or Pop.
I’m not complaining. There were grandparents, friends of the family, and employees there to fill the gap. There was one fella in particular. He had two boys and joked with people that he had three sons. The man taught me a great deal about life. There was also another family that grew up with my pops. They offered to adopt me on more than one occasion after seeing the shite I had to contend with at home.
I was always the weird kid, and my dad hated me for it. My father is a chameleon. He can talk to one person at a party about art, turn around and talk to the next person about race cars, and discuss philosophy with the next person. The man is a genius at it. He should have been a politician.
I never wanted to be the odd kid. So many kids and young adults today try to break through their normality by being Goth, emo, punk, or a myriad of other social outcast. I tried hard to be like every other kid, but because of health issues and because of my odd wiring, it never worked. In school, I was the leader of a group of kids called the Social Rejects. We were a jumble of nerds, poets, and just odd kids. I was brazen for a lad of my size. I called out the bullies for beating on my friends and paid for it. We got our revenge though. I know that one of them is living in Belgium. Another is living in Santa Barbara. He does something for a porn production company. He was always a nutter!
Even though I have other income from property and the occasional photo sell, I still need a fulltime job. I’m embarrassed to say that I am currently unemployed and have been since March. So, I spend every morning during the week talking to perspective employers and going to job interviews. I called me pops the other day to say hello and ask if there were any car shows this weekend. I didn’t call him to ask for money. I’d have to get down to about 7 stones before I’d do that. Money is just not discussed with him. I’d never ask him anyway. Below you’ll find a rough representation of what was said.
“Hello”, says he.
“what’s happening?” I ask.
“Workin’, do you have a job yet?”
“I’ve had several promising interviews this week”, says I, proudly.
“I didn’t ask if you had interviews, I asked if you had a job yet”, he exclaims whilst laughing.
“Nope”, I say with a slight smirk overtaking my countenance.
“Boy, you’re about useless. You can’t have taken from the Davis’. You must’ve taken from your mothers side”, says he whilst still laughing.
“Yep”, says I, as the smile fades away.
“I’ve got to get back to work”, says he.
“Alright then, have a good one”, says I.
If you hear shite like that enough, you begin to believe it. I’ve been listening to his wisecracks since I can remember. But, as I’ve stated numerous times, he’s not all bad. I’m a big boy now and have to face up to the fact that I am who I am. The Bible says that we are supposed to honour our Mothers and Fathers, it doesn’t say that we have to understand them!
