Silly Grins

Sunday, June 16, 2013

F*cking Fathers' Day

 F*cking Fathers' Day: Axes to Grind


Let the good times roll...

Let them knock you around...

"Good evening."

"Good evening Lloyd." 


"What will it be?"

"The usual."

Let the good times roll...

Let them make you a clown...

"So, what's on your mind?" 

"Fathers' Day."

Let them leave you up in the air...

"You must be proud. "  

"Proud? My paternally imbued bragging rights include being able to state the fact that my father...he once attempted to have me adopted by a pedophile."

 "That's gotta hurt."

"Surprisingly, I didn't."

"Or at least make you angry?"
  Let the stories be told...

"No. It's not that he could've known about it at the time. Or that he was really paying attention. Look...there’s a breed of step-parents who want the child to just fuck up and go away. Or fuck them till they go away.

I’ve had both kinds. On one side, a set of step-moms who wanted me out of the nest (attributed to emotions and selfishness – in that order). And there's my first step-father who started our relationship off with a good ol' fashion mind-fuck. His last set of daughters, from maybe his forth or fifth marriage, they got the real deal. So,they ended up pushing back in their own way by pressing charges. He got that right to conceal and carry his piece taken away. Such is the case in the G0lden St4te. Luckily, the law apparently does not discriminate even when it comes to the emasculation of ex-law enforcement. Last I heard, he’d headed to Elmore Leonard territory - somewhere in that Sunshine-out-of-its-ass-State."

"Georgia is more to my liking."

"Had I been allowed to grow up in that household, I would have very well ended up discharging one of his own service pieces in his face.

But I didn’t. I didn’t do either."

"Don't you think you're being just a little dramatic?"
"Last time I heard him speak, it was out of the blue. Through a telephone. A flat, interrogator's voice. Borderline 'bad cop'. One that I recognized he was intentionally prodding me with although he’d long since become a private dick. That voice, or more the memory of the 250 pounds attached to its six-foot-something frame that came along with it... that voice did something completely unexpected." 

"And what's that?"

The can say what they want...

"Made me feel like a child. Almost helpless against the monster barreling through the doorway...before it picked up a ten-year-old kid by his little neck. One arm even. Pinned him against the wall in one clean, sweeping motion."

(momentarily distracted)


"Only, the kid hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d just made a blatant observation that someone was not practicing what he was preaching. Yes, the scrawny ten-year-old had noitced the barrel-chested college-ball, still early thirty-something, born and bred in the L0n3 St4r St4t3, white-bread trailer trash gorilla...the step-son had called his first step-father a hypocrite. Not in so many syllables. And certainly not in such a tone that carried emotion or malice. Nothing that would have been considered 'tawkin bayck'. 

Apparently, other stuff was going on at the time that the kid was not aware of. And the flatfoot custodian had snapped."

"You don't say?"

Let the photos be old...

"Now he’s gone. I seriously doubt that I'll ever be hearing from him again. Though I still wonder, from time to time, why, when we first met...why did he give me an alternative that would have meant having my left hand chopped off? Never...I never did get what that meant other than serving to totally molest a five-year-old's mind. Fear-control I guess.

Funny how I remember the question." 

"What question is that?"

"'Do you like your right hand?

He might have thought he was making an investment in his future. Just what wasn’t all bad.  Only sounds a little freaky when I remember it that way."

Let them show what they want...

"But he's not your father, is he?"

"No. Apparently just one of them in the series.

My real dad...I wouldn’t even know where to start with Real Dad. He never beat me. His first ‘ex’, my blood mother, would have had him put in jail. Blood Mother, she’d endured Real Dad's threats and put up with enough of his stuff, 'I’ll have you knocked off bitch' – all that real good shit, yeah...she probably would have done something. Not like I would've mentioned it to her if he had. She had enough on her plate already with step-father number two, Rev. Holy Shit. Yeah, she sure had her hands full with that one. There was something in His Eyes, Seriously..."

If the illusions are real...


"Truth is, about Real Dad, he probably never would have used the word ‘bitch’. Not his style. But he did hang out, and even do business with, uh...a number of hard working people who could have their 'less than congenial' moments.  A number of independent entrepreneurs who had the misfortune of being tried and convicted of various legal infractions at the local and federal levels. The list included c0ke41ne, embezzlement, c0ke41ne, embezzlement...turns out there was a little bit of a pattern there; it was called the 80’s. Riding high as a kite on the tailwind of the previous decade, people were pumped and primed with greed, ready to make deals, spin their wheels and fly like eagles. Fucking glory days." 

Let them give you a ride...

(offers an ashtray)

"Thank you.

Yeah, so not only do I have the right to brag about my 'almost' adoption, I can also say that early on in my career (not even ten at the time), during one of the summer months, I worked for a dusty w34sel dealer. Not that I ever knew what was going on. Or Real Dad for that matter."

"Really? "

If they got thunder appeal...

"It way my job to mind the shop, to do as I was told. Keep the little critters fed while my ‘boss’, the sole proprietor, was out on business. Never did find out what happened to all those fish, reptiles, and little furry creatures when he got put in the cage. I was kind of always under the assumption that things would be taken care of. Perhaps they were.

Let them be on your side...

Before I say anymore, I should take time pursue my habit by pausing for a moment to reflect on the good things in life. I just so happen to be an optimist and think that, despite the fact that life appears in odd shapes and sizes…I just so happen to think that life is wonderful.

So, there you go.

Happy F*cking Fathers' Day

What do I owe you?"

"Nothing. This one's on the house. "


"Looks like you've got your hands full. "

"Wish me luck."

"May it overflow..."


Well, let the good times roll...


  1. You need to write a screenplay out of that. And I hope that wasn't really your life.

    1. Fortunately or not, too many people are still alive. No, no screenplay.

  2. Vivid writing!

    "a blatant observation that someone was not practicing what he was preaching."

    Though the harshest judgments have come from the face in the a mirror.... my greatest fear is judgement from an immature mind. What does that say of me? When I was once a tot without a conditioned filter, I remember what true words would lash out. It's time for a taste of my own medicine perhaps? The precautions I took not to be in this situation... biologically of course. I still seem to have taken an unexpected detour in what I thought I had a handle on. :/

    Still I drink.... in excess (at least for another few weeks). That damn pride of mine, I don't want my weekend warrior habits to be ammo to a young, unfiltered, perhaps wise child (hopefully not with a mouth like mine).

    Fear is the mind killer.....

    In other news, my co-worker was observing me during lunch and found me to be so proper (he is a singer father of 3 girls) that I would make an excellent and fun step-mom, I hope so!

    Also happy pops day, hope your spawn fill you with enough joyful memories to balance out the years of "trials and tribulations"... if my mom is still kickin' with 6 adults under her belt, anyone can do it.

    1. Fear really is a tricky one. I guess my take on things is to be able recognize when it is being intentionally wielded with specific results in mind. Usually, be not always, I will slow down and then wait for a suitable moment. Or freak out.

      Step Mom #2 sure could party. She'd turn the volume up to about 10. Once, when people were getting out of hand in terms of loud music, being drunk and hysterical (crying and not making any sense), for some reason, I wedged my chair under the knob and ignored the pounding on the door.

      Step Mom #1 and I are still on good terms. In a way, we kind of grew up together.

      My biggest challenge in creating good memories for the kids is, ironically, trying to deal with 'the better half'. I think she confuses my son with me the way she rails on him. Especially when she's been drinking. Which is her usual 'medicine'. I really don't want her karma to running over the kids.

      What's life without a little drama?

    2. My medicine is slowly turning into running or gym time. And I am transitioning to a mellow wino for lack of a better term. (I used to be a martini gal.)

      I am aiming to be fair and provide stability to a little human who has not had much of that. I am hoping to show him the fun stuff in life he has missed out up until now.

    3. Kids really do need the stability. While time may fly for adults, for younger people, just a few months, hell, even an afternoon can be an eternity.

      Your medicine time sounds like a good way to play.

  3. Rough ride, that's for sure. Every Fathers Day I feel like watching Tree of Life. Not the same story as what you've written here, but it does a hell of a job of putting the father/son dynamic into perspective...

    1. Sometimes things get a little rough.

      Funny enough, there always seem to be people around who do what they can to offer help, sometimes in the way of simply providing something productive to focus on. Working toward goals that make us stronger and help develop skills. And even be outstanding at times.

      People can do so much better. Unfortunately, a lot of folks run around unchecked.

  4. Good Ole Lloyd..Shine on Lloyd!

    That album was around me since it came out. Mom was a fan as it was a local Boston band and she watched em' perform at a place called the Red Barn before their 1st LP and for a bit after. Happy Times. That album cover elicited nice memories. Thanks!

    Rev Holy Shit sounds like a major player even if he is mentioned just briefly. Sorry about that.

    1. Your welcome.

      Happy times over getting high any day. People need more happy times...definitely more happy times.

      Rev Holy was full of it, but definitely had a way with words. Could spice up any conversation while sounding so sweet. His specialty. Oh, he had such a heart. Or at least started out with one. Before he threw a grizzly barbecue for whatever demon(s) he had bottled up inside, managing to tear out chunks for them gnaw away at, devouring burnt and bloody bits to make room for the spirits. Maybe even eased the pain of the process, adding just enough fuel to sort of numb the misery on the way down.

      Nothing new though, what was seen in his eyes...seriously. The shitty joke was the best. Best joke he told and ended up acting out as he took a sledgehammer to the staircase he'd built upon almost all upon the patience and goodwill of his beloved family. Made a hell of a bonfire with each and every one of the dozen steps. That first one really got the flames going. He had them demons to feed. I could smell it on his breath, the last time he crossed the line thinking he didn't need that first step.

      On to happier times. "Let the good times roll..."

    2. They say the Devil you know is better than the one you don't. I think they've never seen the Devil Will. Couldn't possible "know" and say some shit like that.

      I sensed a familiar character sprinkled lightly...still has a strong taste.

      "it's so easy to blow up your problems
      it's so easy to play up your breakdown
      it's so easy to fly through a window
      it's so easy to fool with the sound

      it's so tough to get up
      it's so tough
      it's so tough to live up
      it's so tough on yoooooouuuuuuu"

    3. Without certain filters, it really is hard to know when a problem is really a problem. I can proudly say that's been my problem. (Is there an echo in here?

      Living around alcoholics or people who bragged about being declared legally insane and institutionalized due to a fairly impressive track record of drugs, drugs, drugs... growing up in environments around people like that is probably what gave rise to a number of coping mechanisms. The ability to 'put up with shit' is one of them. While it may have been a lifesaver in a number of ways in the past, that habit of putting up with stuff is one habit that really needs to go.

      Speaking of records, for this one, may it eventually be forever set adrift into the eternity of cyberspace... for the records (Blogoshpere Date: Now), some of the most composed looking and charismatic people who are very far from 'not smart' by anyone's standards, those arguably 'charming folk' who you'd never think could do and say things... charismatic and intelligent people do dumb-ugly shit well and often.

      When it comes to the dichotomy of "ugly heroes" vs "beautiful villains", everybody's got plenty of potential to go either way simultaneously.

      Blowing up problems and playing up breakdowns... my tendency has been to downplay or understate with the understanding that, yeah, there are most definitely people out there with much more shit on their plates that I'll ever have to deal with. Have never been blown up or broken down.

      "So what the f*ck is with this blog?"
      I'm starting to see cracks.

      In some ways, it's cathartic. And a way of finding my voice while piecing it all together.

      Moving in Stereo.


      Thank you.

  5. I was always told when I was growing up that there is usually somebody that has had it worse than I do. Because of my strong love to complain, I forget to stop and smell the roses. I don't really like the smell of roses though. I do like jasmine however.

    My only constructive reply I can think of is: balls. In a dark and twisted way, people who have it rough always seem to be more creative. Very unluckily lucky, I must say.

    1. Good to see you here. Just stopped by your place last night to check out your work from the past month or so. I'll do what I can to contribute in terms of comments from an untrained eye.

      Smelling some roses (but not all) is kind of 'ewww...ick' for me too in a smelly soap you find in grandma's bathroom kind of way. Wish she'd just have burnt some incense or lit a match.

      Jasmine... I love that smell. We get a week or so each year where it blooms and, man, is that heaven or what.

      To add to the record, despite that facts, I've never had it bad. I've always had food and a roof over my head. Those basics have always been solid. And I've always managed to somehow be found by good people.

      What does grind a little about this culture over here in particular is the tantrums (Shut up! Shut up!) people with power can throw. There's something about a sense of entitlement that I don't get, but I do feel I need to be aware of and beware of it.

      I understand part of complaining as being a way to 'get it out'. After the initial vent and acknowledgment, time to ease on down, ease on down, ease on down the road. Even if I can't run, I can walk much faster...

      "I think we got it good and we gotta keep it good."