he was having breakfast with his parents at their home

hed come cross country to visit

FeChristssake Dad The obituaries Why arya reading the obituaries

his father folded down the top half of paper so he could glare in his son with some contempt Cuz, boy, I ain’t in ‘em.

boy

son

     they grated on him  neither his father or his mother ever called him Joe it was always Son, this is your father calling Son, this is your mother calling

                                       asif he wouldnt recognise their voices they liked badgering him

Joe My name is Joe

I know who you are.

I wasnt sure I thought you might think my name was Son Youre my fatheryoure my mother Lookin in the mirror I see a fullgrown man looking back at me When you call me son it makes me think you dont appreciate that Im a man

Of course we do.

You do

We do.

My names Joe

Yes, son, it is.

they exasperated him

                      they preferred to meet him as their son rather than a man an adult hows that work

hed be fucked if his kids grown didnt know who he wasthe man he was the men and women they were 

they were raised

they were adults

theyd contend with their relationships as men and women not as DadDaddy not son or daughter he wouldnt hide behind being their father and fuck if they thought they could hide behind being his children should they try to invoke a kind of relief a Klingon cloaking devise

his parents wouldnt know what Klingons were

they just manifested a disregard of he as a man a contemporary dare say a fucking equal

                                                                                               which was ridiculous his father was twentyhis mother eighteen years old when he was born for all intents and purposes they were of the same generation  albeit extreme edges of that generation he certainly had as much in common with them as he he hadhad instilled in his children

 

although he didnt share his childrens technology their abbreviations acronyms 

You got something to say to me dont LOL me dont LMAO me Say what the fuck you mean Throw that shit at me Im content to let it dribble and slide down the wallnot give a damn what youre trying to communicate 

Save that drivel for your contemporaries

Obits have pictures now  Yawant your picture on your obit when you diekick the bucket as youse say

So you do look.

Look You hand me the paper folded over  theres obits front and back  I get it  The stories  But their stories would have been more compelling had they shared them with me rather than being secondhand wellintended news  Prattling  Their stories have ended and only they could do their lives justice  Mebbe people ought to write their own obits before they croak  Tell their liestheir truths  Id rather hear it from the horsesthe whoresthe bastards mouth than commemorated by hoodwinked children or relatives

Youre awful

Yes  Awfully honest  The truth with both barrels  The terrible trouble with a scattergun is  that it creates an ugly mess  And people prefer tidy corpses still fresh  Not rotting corrupted  And that said  Have you written your obituaries yet

his parents noticeably went pale

Its inevitable deaths inevitable Im only saying that the last word on your lives ought to be your words OtherwiseI guarantee theyll be mine  because youll have left them to me  My siblingstheyre younger  they havent the relationship weve had  and theyll drop that responsibility in my lap Ive no doubt

Im simply saying what will be true

Makes complete sense to me

Either of you care to say otherwise

1843, Sunday,  14  4. 19

1554,  Twosday,  16  4. 19