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: Inter-what?

ME: Nothing.

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?

ME: No.

DAD: Oh. Go back to sleep.