Is it me or has it gotten cool rather quickly? Didn't we skip right from the seventy degree days to the fifty degree days? Who's in charge here?
Oct. 4--Three things my father told me--I always envied boys with a regular dad. They'd come to school on Mondays and talk about ballgames, fishing, building things, stuff like that. I'd stay off to the side and listen, not too close so no one would ask me what I'd done with my dad. I don't think they'd have believed me anyway. How could I tell a bunch of nine-year-olds about spending Friday night in the bar watching the old man hustle pool. "Never play a man with his own cue," he told me. If I made too much noise on Saturday morning, eating my cereal too loud or dropping a shoe, he'd holler at me to "shut the fuck up for Christ's sake" and take a swing at me. I was fast enough to duck--usually. On Sunday afternoon he'd take me along to the liquor store where he'd knock down a pack of smokes and kick it over to me to stuff in my pocket. "Who'd ever suspect a kid with freckles and red hair?" he'd say with a laugh as he peeled the cellophane off with the maximum crackle. How could I tell Jason and Michael and Andy about things like that? They wouldn't understand, their dads played catch.
Man, it's big in here when you're all alone. If anybody reads this, please comment--or post. I'm getting self-conscious talking to myself all the time. Well, enjoy your Sunday!
--Barbara
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