You Won’t Read This Because I Tell The Truth

I’m clean shaven for the first time in around a year and when I am not absentmindedly rubbing my face or staring at a face that looks familiar but slightly younger I am moving at warp speed.

Ok, that is an exaggeration, only my mind and occasionally my fingers upon the keyboard are moving like that.

The rest of me is maintaining a more sedate pace with occasional bursts of energy in which my entire being moves at high speed.

I haven’t made it to the gym today and I am wrestling with whether to swing by before they close at midnight.

Part of me says I ought to just stay home and give myself a break, there are a lot of miles on these wheels and it won’t hurt to rest them.

The other part says I ought to move because one day I won’t be able to do as I do now.

You Won’t Read This Because I Tell The Truth

I drop my daughter off at school most days and do my best to be ready to listen or talk based upon her mood.

When I mentioned that to one of the guys he told me I ought to lay down the law and make sure my kids know how be courteous.

I politely told him there is a huge difference between parenting a teenage girl and a 7 year-old boy and suggested we revisit when he has real and meaningful experience to share.

My kids are good but they are teenagers and sometimes you have to accept they are challenging.

“Dad, if you expect me to wear mom’s wedding dress it is not going to happen. I am not wearing that ‘old-timey‘ thing.”

I laughed and told her if she planned on trying to get married within the next ten years there would be hell to pay.

She said not to worry and that has too much to do to get married any time soon.

We said goodbye and as she walked away she told me that I shouldn’t expect her to do grandpa’s hair for her wedding either.

We both laughed then mine came to a full stop.


My dad has pancreatic cancer.

He probably won’t be at her wedding.

For a full two minutes I played out different scenarios in my head and thought about how much my dad might miss of his grandchildren’s lives.

It made me sad and then I thought about how his mother died in her late fifties.’

I remember my grandmother, but not as well as I would like. She never met my youngest sisters and if she magically reappeared now she would have trouble comparing the 3 year-old I was to the man I am now.

So dad has her beat in that respect, he has an 18 year-old grandson and another who is a few months shy of 18.

It is not enough but we have little control over these things and so I forced myself to stop thinking about the what if and went back to what is.

He looks and sounds pretty good today and for the moment that has to be enough.

You Won’t Read This Because I Tell The Truth

A guy on social media tells me I won’t read any of his material because he tells the truth.

I tell him Hitler, Lenin and Pol Pot said the same thing.

Maybe that is taking things too far but I haven’t the patience or wherewithal to be more civil than that with some people.

He strikes me as being someone who might read some of the pro nazi websites but smart enough not to speak about it in public.

Smart nazis don’t make me happy. The dumb ones who follow their fellow lemmings into buzz saws, wood choppers and or into the middle of traffic are better.


Daughter is watching Mama Mia and wondering how I know all the songs.

As we walk through the parking lot at the polls today I regale her with a few tunes and she tells me to stick with my current job.

“How am I going to become a professional singer if I never practice?”

“Abba, you aren’t. All your Linkedin connections and Facebook friends will quit.”

“What about my Instagram?”

“Don’t sing on Instagram and maybe you’ll keep a few.

It is a good thing my girl is around because without her I clearly would be in trouble.

I’d Fight A Bear

Daughter and I walk away from the polls and she asks questions about voting in Texas versus voting in California.

I answer as best I can and then the conversation goes in several different directions.

“You know I would fight a bear for you.”

“I am not little any more. You can’t fool me into believing you can beat a bear with your bare hands.”

“Baby girl, that bear doesn’t have a chance. Look at this.”

She watches the clip and tells me I am crazy.

“I am not crazy, but I am relentless. I can give you a list of a half dozen people who will confirm.”

“Someone who is relentless would have a list of more than a half dozen people.”

I shake my head, “teenagers. Listen girly, your old man knows things, such as you have too much homework to read 83,168 testimonials about how relentless I am.”

“Ok dad. It is a wonder you ever got married or had a girlfriend.”

I laugh again, you really don’t want to go there.

“Why? Because you were a player.”

“Teenage sarcasm is cute, especially when an amateur pulls it off. The reason you don’t is you don’t want to know any details. I could tell you about the girl who kissed me and said she loved me first but that would gross you out.”

“Ooh, you are right, that is gross.”

I smile at her and tell her not to argue.

Another eye roll and a deep sigh precedes a new story about Starr testing at school and plans for Memorial Day weekend along with a splash of commentary about high school.

These children of ours grow up too fast.

(Visited 69 times, 1 visits today)


Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Please enter an e-mail address

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

You may also like
%d bloggers like this: