18:50:37 - 2000-09-12
genetics
My father owned a redneck bar back in Kerrville when I was a kid (I know it was a redneck bar 'cause rednecks was all that lived in Kerrville back then) and my ma' used to drop me off there on her way to work the night shift at the hospital. I was like four, and (even though my fake ID said I was 30) my father wouldn't serve me...so I'd chat up the drunks, eat red pickled eggs straight out da' jar (I remember sniffing my little vinegary fist at pre-school), second-hand smoke a pack of Winston's, all that great bar stuff. Most of my memories of "Frank's Lounge" are pretty blurry, but I definitely recollect my father's having kept a blackjack behind the bar. Today, of course, I understand that necessity, but even as a child I was impressed by the violent suggestiveness of the thing.
Anyway, because my ma' left him for being a drunk about 25 years ago, that's about all I remembered of my father. Then I saw him last christmas. Since I had a cool step-father, I never really felt like anything was lacking in the male role-model dept., and I actually kinda resented the necessity of this reunion. It just seemed too like, Oprah or something. Like I was being forced to deal with a situation I didn't create...but it turned out to be chill. Even though he was all stroked out from a double aneurysm and couldn't articulate everything he seemed to want to, even though he wore a Garth Brooks baseball cap to Christmas dinner, it was totally comfortable. Because it was like watching an older version of me (except for the ball cap...knock on wood) pass the potatoes to myself...
Genetics, man. It's freaky stuff.
