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Poem
Shortly after me and mom's showdown is when
I had my one and only out of body experience.I
had been doing dishes one summer Saturday evening as per dads direction.There was a knock at the door.I went to answer it and there stood Sandy Tucker and Marilyn Woodard.Now old Sandy knew how the other side lived,in fact was living it herself
in her own dysfunctional abode.Marilyn however
must be stopped at the door.I was in the process
of administering a modified Irish goodbye with
As much speed as could be mustered.Before I 
Could make it happen Capn' my dad emerged.Muttering something about dishes before
he lost consciencness, unsheathing his mighty sword .Perhaps he deemed this the perfect opportunity to reenact his own public beating.
    The next thing I know I am above the action 
looking on as my dad exercised his demons as well
aerobicaly his heart and lungs.The thing that stood
out the most was the look of horror on those preteen girls faces.They were frozen in place.
I am amazed he didn't jerk one of them up before
realizing they didn't belong in this congo line.

I didn't cry that day or any other where he was
concerned till about a month after his death.My little sisters would beg me thinking if I cried he would stop.He would be killing himself and I would be thinking It feels so good not to be struggling to
breath.He that beats and limps away lives to beat
another day.Which brings another saying to mind.This one shared with his sons.It went,if memory serves me,I'm gonna open a boot shop in your a##

I both thought and said I hated him as a child.
As I reached a place of peaceful understanding
I came to realize that ugly emotion was born
from my thinking he must hate me.He must.How 
else could this be possible? Life is not that black and white but is  multi hued and complicated at best.

Inheriting my father's scintillating social skills,
my brother was my best friend.I was athletically inclined so I enjoyed shooting baskets.When we threw pitches let me say he did not hold the heat.He treated me as one of the guys.Needing inclusion as I did paying dues to be in that club
Was part of the deal.I was one of the guys.To what extent did I dress for success?

When I was eight years old my dad told me I could
no longer go outside without a shirt on.There is a picture of me standing arms crossed over my little chest as I defiantly look into the eye of the camera. I can still remember the feel of sun and wind softly
enveloping me.Terror of the playground.#7
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