Saturday, January 1, 2011
a conversation with my dead father
ME: I hate it when I wake up in the middle of the night like this.
DAD: It wouldn't happen so much if you didn't have ghosts in your house.
ME: (sigh) I am so disillusioned about everything right now. My writing. Other writers. Bloggers... especially bloggers...
DAD: What's a blogger?
ME: Oh. I forgot. You died when I was a kid. It's a person on the internet... ugh... never mind.
DAD: See? I always told you not to be a writer, that nothing good would come of it.
ME: To be honest, I don't think you ever talked to me in my life.
DAD: Things were different in those days. Men weren't supposed to talk to their sons.
ME: Maybe I should've played football or become a soldier instead. You talked to them.
DAD: You were always taking off. Disappearing from the house for months.
ME: I can't do that anymore. I have a wife and kids. You've never seen them.
DAD: Are they Steelers fans?
DAD: Oh. Go back to sleep.