Sticks & Stones
01/24/01
Sticks & Stones
When I was younger, I was told to swallow my words. They scraped their way down my throat. Sharp. venomous little pebbles were swallowed and ground away into bits of gravel that gnawed at my gut and somehow stayed there for years, nearly forgotten, inside this peckish little gal. When I thought I was smart I spat them at people.
And they flew and wounded like beebees. Now that I am weary. Now, I chew them, suck on them when my throat is dry, and occasionally swirl them around in my mouth, under my tongue, until they are polished, and smooth. Sworling them beneath my tongue for an appropriate moment to fire them out of my mouth. Or hoping that I don’t chip a tooth in my eagerness.
I said something cruel today.
I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.
Papa called at 6 am this morning. Lucky me, sick from the flu, highly medicated, went to bed at 6Pm last night so I guess I should have felt reasonably rested. Still, I snapped at him a bit and I was ashamed. I promptly apologized but was shocked at how easily those words flew out of me and how quickly they cut to the quick. Bull�s-eye in the blink of a bleary eye. Shame. How easy those words are to spit out of my mouth. A mouth that I should use to kiss my poor father’s old hands, his furrowed brow, his balding little pate and that bristly cheek of his. How easy I forget how old he is and how infrequently I visit him back in Michigan. But how could I really forget how much I love the little man? He’s my only papa. The older I get, the more I appreciate how *non dysfunctional* my family was growing up.
Yeah, we were boring and prone to oddities, but overall, reasonably well adjusted. Ok, ok, yeah, it was a little embarrassing having my dad hang up on guys who called me up to go to the library (honestly, I looked like a dork, they just thought I’d do the research for em while they figured out ways to shoot bottle rockets in the stacks) or when my mom caught flies mid air in front of my girlfriends. But in the end, really, I couldn’t pass it up or trade it for anything.
So, Pops calls me up, all concerned about Mike, my bro, who’s been MIA in Korea for the last month or so. He’s a usually frenetic workaholic (runs in the family though he’s more disciplined than I am) so I didn’t even realize how long it had been since we’d last chatted. With an earnest longing, I could tell that Daddy wanted to hear from Mike. Hey, at least his daughter is in the same country, right? So odd that our hearts are so close while our feet are so far apart.
Stepsister Brandy, whom I’ve yet to meet though our parents have been wed for nearly 5 years now, sent me a cute Xmas letter. I am due to write her back or give her a jingle. Since she’s in Florida, and I’m out here, and our parents are back in Michigan we’ve just never met up or chatted much. Is that odd? Yes, I suppose. But it’s nice to know that she liked my little xmas gift to her (some vino from my favorite winery - Peju)
Conking out at a reasonable hour tonight… heavily medicated.
Ack.
The worse headaches in the world are these.
The ones that feel like you’re wearing a very heavy lead cap that is slowly shrinking on your head.
Ick.
The back of this photo says 1962.
Wow.
Handsome, wasn’t he? See? I *told* you my dad was cute!
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