Friday, March 19, 2010

My Dad's Dick

When I was a child, my dad use to show me is dick.

"When you have a son, show him your dick while he is still small..."

One time it was while we were dropping the tire pressure on the Jeep to drive out to Democrat Point. I would walk around, looking for a rock small enough, and sharp enough, to push the pin on the tired and let the air spill out, while he would de-robe, and put on the bathing suit he always kept in the back seat. Naked in the public world, sun shining where it generally does not. Later, I would sit on his lap, and he would let me steer.

"... not just once, pop it out a few times, let him get a good look at it..."


Some other times it was in the bathroom, while playing swords, crossing the streams while we pissed, side by side, my dad's dick in his hand, the hand that would hold me, pat me, and smack me. My dad's dick, dark behind a mess of unknown pubic hair, but inches away my face, the size of my face, at eye level.

"... this way, when he grows up, when he gets bigger, and he remembers your dick, he'll think it is the biggest dick in the world."



My dad had the biggest dick in the entire world.





I've been thinking about him a lot lately, I didn't really know why. Sometimes reminiscences appear out of no where, without any apparent trigger. There are moments in life where gravity is suddenly more powerful, or our cloths get heavier, and we drag our feet uphill.

Life has a tendency to do that. All these subconscious emotions and memories which are always there, behind all the thought processes we go through everyday talking to us from the unknown. Like italics on inner dialogue:

"Ok, first I'll get some coffee to wake myself up this morning. Then I have to get to the bank to deposit my paycheck. I have to get the check deposited today because I need it to clear soon to send out my rent check. Your father is dead. I have to pay my creditor too. And I still owe money to Ian. I want to get that paid off soon because borrowing money is terrible, I feel so scummy about it. You'll never see him again. I hope the electric bill isn't high this month, I need some money to fix my bike. Man, I don't want to go to work today. I am so fucking tired of people. I want to get out of the city. Everyone else you love will leave you some day. I long for the country. The fresh air. Wildlife. I don't know why I ever came back to a city. I miss South Carolina. It was beautiful out there. The crows and hawks and mocking birds. That beach was all I could ever want for life. You are unfit to love in this world. I'm kind of hungry."

So I applied for my passport this week. Got my birth certificate, filled out the paper work, had to get all the information I didn't already know. Seems his birthday just passed. I could never remember his birthday while he was alive either. I was upset I guess. More upset that it passed without me knowing, but then again, what would I have done?

I never wonder if he would be proud of me or not. I know he would be. But I do wonder what he would say about the various episodes I have gone through in life. He was always fond about hearing the sexual escapades I seem to get myself into. As he was fond of telling me his. He was proud of the grades and all that, but there was certain glimmer in his eye when I told him about the girls. And I don't think it just the cataracts.

I wonder what he would say now, about Philadelphia, about my adventures since him. About my plans for the future. I know I have a couple stories I would like to tell him...

I know, I have a couple stories I would like to tell him.

I have a couple stories I wish I could tell him.

I have a couple stories I want to tell him.

I have a couple questions I want to ask him.

Just one more conversation.

He always told me he was going to live long enough to see his grandkids.

I wish I payed more attention to him, then, when he talked.



I wonder what he would say, having read a story I wrote, about his dick.

About my dead dad's dick.

6 comments:

  1. 好文章給人的感覺就是很好,謝謝您~~..............................

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  2. This is beautiful, Brent. Heartbreaking and beautiful.

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  3. The guy who donated the sperm that made me...left when I was 8. You had a dad. I'm now 52, still coming to grips with what was missing. Reading what you said filled in more blanks I never imagined. How lucky you are to at least know what it's like. Wishing you well. Thanks.

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