Sister Janice was born in January 1961, I appeared 18 months later in August 1962.
I have no idea about the circumstances of my conception. But apparently it was too soon for my mom and she was pissed at my dad for knocking her up again so fast. He said she didn’t speak to him for the entire pregnancy. Can you imagine this kind of juvenile bullshit? First of all he should have laid off mom and I have no idea why he needed to hit that again so soon. Apparently my mom wasn’t that into sex at all. He once told me that she said, “we’re like a couple of dogs going at it.”
Clearly this is not the glorious celebration I’ve experienced during my union with another vessel that is clearly in love with me and we are going to make a Lorelei. Sadly that was a calculated well-timed act scheduled by her mother but it’s too late now. Lor is here and she is a wonderful part of my life.
But then my parents had four kids… I don’t have any information why or how that happened. But what kid really wants that data about their parents anyway. Right?
But once I was born, my mom spoke to him again and loved me. It was a very hot in the summer of August of 1962. It was so humid she would take me to the basement to give me my bottle. I was born when they lived in North Philly on Hope Street but they got the house in Lawndale when I was one, and that’s where I grew up.
I was always careful and timid. Janice would kick me in the crib because I was the new youngling. She started biting her nails because I was the new baby. The new star.
But all shooting stars fall.
Janice was bold and would crawl right off the couch and I would watch and hang back. My father would laugh that his one child would venture forth and fall and the other would hang back and survive.
We need people like Janice. The ones that are stable and go forward to bring the species forward.
But we also need people like me to stay behind, to draw the pictures of her adventures, and look after the women, the young, and to entertain the tribe.
Let’s get back to the theme here.
Janice’s son looks a lot like my dad. Janice is very much cut from my dad. We have history to prove this. She marries well, and creates a wonderful son. My nephew Tim is a great kid. Their whole family is great.
Tim always adored my father. He loved Pop. My father was able to roll in with the treats and the toy trains and do “Greatest Hits” with Tommy. He didn’t have to raise Tim.
Janice and her husband did.
He’s the Paragon.
Tim adored Pop.
My dad adored his father and got nothing.
“Here’s $10…. get them a set of trains. ” (Didn’t give a shit about his sons)
Tim adores my father. That’s the ONE Thing my father has always wanted. A little boy who is well-behaved. A sweet kid. No drama. Goes to college. Gets a great job. Is lifeguard of the year. Looks like him. Understands him. Knows how to navigate him in a safe respectful, gentle way. Diplomatic. Can live with him during the summer and be the perfect companion. Justifies his existence.
I commend Tim for being sentient enough to understand my father.
The complete opposite of me. This boy was raised by my sister. Not by Horace. That’s a whole different relationship. This is “Greatest Hits” and Tim makes great records!
Tim became the son my father always wished for. He was this perfect respectful boy who gave him what he always wished for from his father.
His circle was complete. It made my father so happy.
Of course the kid that looks like you is from the daughter who is most like you and he’s perfect. Because he isn’t the shit you ground into powder in the studio that never made the album.
Tim is your Greatest Hits album.
You don’t have to raise him. He stops in and gets the BEST of you. He loves you. He worships you like you worshiped your dad. He loves the toy trains. He’s a good, compliant boy. He’s not Helen’s family. That’s the son you wanted. You didn’t have to raise him and download your pain and bullshit into him. You never threatened or hit Tim with your hands.
It was easy.
So good. Not lies or weird. Not the component of you that harbors your dark side that’s you and knows your dark side and struggles with it. He doesn’t know that I know the truth about you, dad. He’s a sweet boy that looks like a better version of you and doesn’t share your demons.
But I know you, and I know ALL of your demons and we’re all on the same side now.
He’s clean. It’s easy. Give him the ring Bilbo Baggins. You’re a man who taught us that we should always live by our word and that our word was our bond, but you were lying the whole time. To me and to yourself, man.
How did you live with all of the infidelity and the illegitimate kids?
You reckless fuck.
You did it because you could. Maybe that’s why I love a good paradox in all of my stories. Because that’s you dad.
(I’ll get to my half-brother and sister in a future posts…. yea, I know… horrors…. phicklephilly phollowers!)
It’s so easy. Tim doesn’t have to be raised by you and all of your rage and OCD and anxiety never touch him.
You’re countless fights with mom and how many times I failed you don’t exist. Clean slate. Awesome, Pop.
Tim is the perfect son you always wanted because it’s easy and you can forget all of the sins you seared into my mother and I.
It’s okay, we forgive you, but the memories remain.
You’re the son he always wanted Tim. Automatic and easy. You get Pop Pop’s triple diamond ring and I…. his blood son gets passed over. (I don’t give a fuck about his stupid jewelry, Tim. My identity comes from a place my father has never seen.)
The 3 diamond ring goes to the you…
(My grandfather left a ring to my Dad that had 3 diamonds in it. He wore it every day. (Is that to show some sort of affluence?)
Jewelry is nothing but shiny stones and metal.
All that glitters isn’t gold, dad.
I would have pawned it anyway, because stuff means nothing to me anymore. Life is to be lived and experienced and we are meant to always evolve.
I’ll tell you what brings me joy.
Knowing my daughter Lorelei is healthy and happy in her life. I’m fine, but once you have a child… that’s until you die. I never screamed at her or frightened her. I never hit her. Hitting children is wrong.
You scared me and hit me a lot. That doesn’t make for good people. It’s wrong. I’m smaller than you and I’m not allowed to defend myself. So you can hit me and do whatever you want to me and I am powerless. So no matter what you preach to me about life, and honor and being a man of my word…
You still get to abuse me verbally and physically.
Simple as that, asshole.
Tim gets the 3 diamond ring because he’s the son you wanted but you never earned.
Janice made him. Not you.
Your subtle message of inheritance and bloodline bounces from me like piss in the ocean, father.
Just like your weird cryptic messages left in a toy train station about how it’s your last stop and all of that. You knew it would be found by Janice. How fucked up is that? So you want to cause pain and sadness and drama beyond your expiration? I’m going to hit the accelerator here and say, drama queen. Because that’s not cool. In movies that’s cool. You and I loved film, dad. But you don’t pull that drama shit on your favorite daughter. What the fuck were you thinking?
Dad….She loved you more than anybody in the world.
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