09.03.06 - 8:13 p.m.

oh, to visiting families. i do poorly with parents anyway. it's the rare mother who loves me; dads can smell my distrust a mile away and either write me off or work their persistent fat fingers to the bone to make me laugh. i usually give in out of pity eventually and we both feel dirty. it's only the misunderstood mother who will take me to the local grocery co-op to purchase food items sans refined sugar for her son with attention deficit disorder. the quiet father who will sit next to me on the couch and remark sarcastically while we watch television. the over-involved, bossy, affectionate-in-public kind were made my arch nemeses by my own uninvolved, uninterested, affectionless parents. they are, to me, a phony breed of people who, at night before bed, peel off their costumes, place them on the ladder backs of their bedside chairs and get between sheets resentful of the day's charade. of these men and women at whose dinner tables i have eaten, whose sons i have kissed, i want to ask who are you really? what is actually your deal?

i seriously doubt your parents would go for a conversation like that
previous next

the project museum

the revolution will be catalogued

this american life

the library of congress

i used to believe







Site Meter