Spatchcock My Glockenspiel

Bruce and I share something in common, we ain’t nothing but tired and we’re both dancing in the dark.

Ok, maybe it is just me, maybe I am the guy Dancing in the Dark alone and apart, so be it.

A member of Cult 45 wandered into a discussion in which I had asked a different member to do more than share propaganda and told me I was bad for asking for fact.

“You can’t prove he is wrong which is why you are just sharing your opinion.”

“Ok cultie, it is always effective to begin a discussion by proving you have poor reading comprehension but if you want to dance I am happy to be your Huckleberry.”

Took about two minutes to provide the facts and sources he asked for and two more for him to say they were false.

I threw out another four links, two comments and asked him to if he could explain the relevance of the facts he shared but he ignored that.

In the next breath he said Trump was responsible for the economy and stock market and that Obama was responsible for the rise in antisemitism.

That told me all I needed to know because after three years of being in office a president should be held accountable for both good and bad.

I looked at dad’s picture and said I was bowing out. “This fool doesn’t want to engage in fair conversation or use facts, no need to prove I am a fool too by continuing.”

Spatchcock My Glockenspiel

If I am bare my soul and share a few secrets here I’ll start by saying in a different discussion with a cultist I told them to spatchcock my glockenspiel.

They were highly insulted or so their semi-literate answer made it seem and I didn’t try to confirm otherwise.

Sometimes you have to take your victories at face value and run with them.

Dad would tell me he doesn’t understand why I take any joy in this and I would tell him he doesn’t have to understand or appreciate why I do certain things.

Given my proclivity for shaking my head when his grandson says similar things to me I imagine if there is a world to come my father is saying “payback is sweet.”

Most of the time I appreciate my own kid’s push to be his own man and to carve his own path.

I tell him not to cut his nose to spite his face and to remember his father has made more than his own share of mistakes and it is worth learning from them.

And then I tell him to plant his feet and not fear taking chances and moving forward into things that are frightening, scary and otherwise uncomfortable.

Sometimes he questions me and I remind him I have decades of life experience and that he doesn’t know all of my stories.

“Does anyone?”

“No, I don’t think anyone does.

There are some who know know most and maybe one who knows the ones that could have been and still be the most life changing.”

“Did you say still be?”

“I did. I am not dead yet and haven’t any plans to die soon. Shakespeare was right about some things.”

The two of us sit together in a very comfortable silence and he laughs.

“You are not going to tell me any more, are you.”

“No,  I don’t think I will.”

He smiles, nods his head and I see thoughts flowing through his eyes, but just what they are I cannot say.

And that is fine.