billybillybilly

I'm going to talk about one thing, but I'm going to talk about it a lot. That's a heads up, and it's the best you're going to get here.

* * * * *

I've always focused my writing on people and personal experiences. It's difficult for me to go beyond that, into a more objective form of art in writing. The actual study of mechanics in any form of art has only opened up more questions than answered. But here's some more.

Dad

Always closed off. But he would lace it with moments of strangeness. Example: Here we are standing in front of an elevator in the Hibbing/Chisolm MN area. We're waiting to shoot a mile down into mine depleated earth. Here we are standing and the elevator will be here in moments and we look at each other, my sister, she looks at me. We know it's coming. We're waiting.

EVERYBODY IN THE POOL!

There's a touch of a southern drawl on that. He's from the south. And everyone of us hears it. There are people standing maybe 20 yards away. There are people standing 50 yards away. They heard it too. Those people standing around us, they look shocked. They look like they just took one in the guts.

Or all the times we were in the kitchen, or the living room, and I would have my back turned, and out of no where...

i love paris...
in the springtime...

And no. He did NOT have any kind of singing voice, but when I'd look over, he didn't even know I was there. This is the same man who's never said "bye" or "goodbye" or "talk later" or "see you when you get home" over the telephone. He waits for me to say these things. Then he just hangs up.

I can't much remember having any kind of heart-to-heart open conversations with him, but I do remember beating him in chess twice in a row. One of the most awkward days of my life. That same day I beat my English teacher and my Science teacher. Maybe I was on a roll, or maybe I needed someone else to win. I'm not sure, but my approach was nothing short of phenominal, and I've never repeated it.

Father also accused the main drug enforcement officer in my town of dealing to children out of the back of his squad car. He did this in a meeting at Town Hall. He came home one night, months before this, and his face was broken up. Missing teeth. Deep cuts over his mouth and nose. A nice one on his eyebrow. Stitches, lots of 'em.

He didn't trust doctors. Heh... can't blame him.

He didn't trust me. Heh... same.

I get a feeling I'll morph into him one day, which is not entirely horrible, I just hope I make it out with more of my teeth.

I can already feel the urge to just start singing, walking down the sidewalk with headphones on, strangers watching me, blissfully unaware the rest of the world exists outside this moment. And how strange will it be to not even hear myself?

My growing addiction to coffee, more mental than physical is a direct result of his mug NEVER being empty. The seats of his truck were stained all over, and the coffee smell was ground and driven and layered into the fabric, the floors. Which reminds me that I don't remember when the last time I cleaned my car was. I mean, yeah, there was that time late last winter, but that couldn't have been the last...?

When I was very young, and I don't know, I may not have been born yet, he was diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic by five different doctors. He didn't take drugs to get over it. He didn't take anything, and he didn't take it out on me. He took it out on my sister, he took it out on my mom, he took it out on his mother and his sister, but he didn't take it out on me. He could have taken disability and received years and years of financial compensation for it, but he didn't take it. He took it out on all of us, including the aforementioned police department, but not on me. Still affected, here I am, telling you about it.

Sometimes I don't get back to you on things, and I'm pretty sure that's where I get it. Non-responsive. Finding the most difficulty in telling people small things, things like "I love you." That's a difficult one, but then sometimes it's even more difficult to say "I like you." Not once have I heard him say "I love you" to anyone other than myself. Not to my mother or sister. Not to his mother or his sister. I've not heard him encourage anyone, but when I started college, the last thing he said to me before walking away, leaving me in this big city to account for my own actions he said, "There are going to be times where you don't think you can make it. If you tell your mother about this she's going to feel very bad. She'll want to help you and do whatever she can, but she can't be here with you. So you need to remember that you can do anything you set your mind to if you want it."

I'm becoming my father. In a lot of ways, I certainly am. But I'm trying, dear, I'm TRYING to open up here. I realise I suck at it, and dear, I need help with this, so sometimes you need to ask me the tough questions. Sometimes you need to tell me what's on YOUR mind first. I'm doing my best to be my own person.