Is This Messed Up Or What?? (conversation Between Father And Son)?
February 28, 2010
the following conversation happened between my father and I from 6:36am and 7:00am
let it be noted that my father and I are both very capable of proper english but like the majority of people on the internet
we use the internet lingo lol.
for safety reasons ive removed actual names and such.
12/29/2009 6:36:55 AM
SON:anyways i think im gonna do that phoenix thing if jcc dont start workin
FATHER: ITS NOT THE SAME THING
SON: what you mean?
FATHER: COLLEGE IS A SOCIAL THING
SON: you know i dont give a s*** about socializing i just want the degree dad
FATHER: NOT SOCIAL LIVING BEHIND A COMPUTER SCREEN
SON: cuz once i get my degree i can piss on all the a**holes that made fun of me and said im never gonna have anything in life
FATHER: U STILL HAVE TO LEARN HOW 2 WORK WITH OTHERS AFTER YOU GO TO WORK
SON: i know that
FATHER: I KNOW YOU LIKE BUCKING THE SYSTEM
SON: yes and you also know that like our great grandfather , i like to be the conductor of the orchestra not the pissant piccolo player
SON: and besides more than 30% (*estimate*) of all successful major business owners started “behind a computer screen”, i mean look at bill gates an the guys who created yahoo
*a few minutes went by*
FATHER: DO YOU REALLY FEEL THAT LUCKY
SON: in a sense yes, but the question i ask myself is do i feel that smart?
SON: and the answer i tell myself is yes
FATHER: WELL I CAN ONLY HOPE YOU WAKE UP BEFORE YOU TURN FORTY
SON: i pride myself on coming from a long line of what society calls “wizards” (*people that have a certain talent for things*) theres you, and grampa, and plenty of others
SON: and what if i become successful hows it gonna make you feel that you didnt support me
SON: ?
FATHER: IDK I JUST WANT YOU TO COME DOWN TO EARTH WHERE REALITY REALLY IS
SON: dad honestly how far has reality gotten YOU in this life???
FATHER: AT YOUR PRESENT RATE I WILL NOT LIVE TO SEE YOU SUCEED
SON: so then do me a favor LIE, if you dont think im gonna make it before you die then just give me fake support
FATHER: BUT
FATHER: IM REAL
FATHER: ALWAYS BEEN REAL
FATHER: THATS WHY I DONT DRINK
FATHER: DONT DO DRUGS
SON: nobodies talkin about drugs dad
FATHER: AND DIDNT CHEAT UNLESS CHEATED ON
SON: all im talkin about is getting a degree
FATHER: ME NEITHER JUST STATING THE FACTS
FATHER: AND OF ALL PEOPLE WHY WOULD ANY 1 WANT THERE DAD TO SUPPORT BS
FATHER: SON THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS IN LIFE IS TO SURVIVE
FATHER: ANY THING MORE IS GREAT
SON: b cuz at least w fake support i actually feel like i have you standing behind me in what i do instead of feeling like you give me the cold shoulder like you do in everything that i do
FATHER: YOUR BROTHER BUCKED THE SYSTEM HIS WHOLE LIFE SO FAR
SON: HOW CAN YOU SETTLE FOR MEDIOCRE?????
FATHER: U HAVE TO
SON: y ? bcuz the government and society says i have to?
FATHER: YUP
FATHER: DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE IN THE US ACTUALLY CONTROLL THE MONEY HERE
SON: ok dad seriously where would your “society” be without the people like me that took the incentive to take the great leap of faith and hope for greatness?
FATHER: 1 IN 50,000 SUCCEED
FATHER: AND IN THE MEAN TIME PEOPLE LIKE YOUR WORKING MOTHER HAVE TO SUPPORT YOUR DREAM LIFE
FATHER: AND ME
SON: i like those odds dad, how many ppl are there in the world 7 BILLION um thats 140000 in the world not just the US successful ppl dad
12/29/2009 7:00:32 AM
*= information i added
i only want opinions on this conversation im not here to rant or complain i just want some opinions from what everyone that reads this thinks
Honestly What Do You Think Of This Poem?
February 27, 2010
Dreaming is just another illusion
An illusion that makes you feel amazing
A dream you think will never end
But just like any dream
It’s too good to be true
Then you wake up to a reality
A reality that hurt before
But now hurts even more
Because now you know what you’re missing
Then you stop and wish that that dream didn’t die so fast
And you spend the reality thinking of the dream
That’s the only oasis to the desert of life
Our dreams is what get us through life
They are the things we learn from our mistakes
They are the things that make us stronger
And they are the things that isolate us
Dreams make us superheroes
But when we wake up, they are the things that turn us to villains
Those dreams are what make us shield ourselves
And they are what make us let our guard down
Because once u have a dream
Its like a drug
You spend your life searching for that first high
But you just sabotage yourself and make it worst
So here’s the one lesson you should learn from dreams
They aren’t real
Once you learn that, you learn to enjoy reality the best you can
And Turn the dreams into the villains.
Is There A Medical Reason Why My Mother Is Crazy Or Does She Actually Know That The Things She Does Are Wrong?
February 25, 2010
I swear my mother is crazy or looney in someway or the other, im not just saying this becuase we dont really get along.i have three older sisters and two little brothers, as a child i adored my mother i thought the world of her i wanted to be just like her i thought everyone loved the person that she was (but that was me looking at her threw the eyes of a child ) my sisters and i learned at a younge age that there was something different about our mother, say for instense we would be at wal-mart and take a box of cookies up to her and ask if we can uy them she replied no you cant have those bananas weird huh? but all the real drama started when i was about thirteen my mother started asking me o go places with her wich was strange cause she never waned anything really to do with me, but i didnt care i loved her and was excited that she was finally choosing me over my older sisters. so we went everywhere together then she started going to this guys house alot and she would take me with her , i had known this guy from when i was younger he would always come to the house cause i thought he was friends with my oldest sister hes not that much older then her. so when we would go to this gus house mom would always tell me not to tell any one where we went that it was our secret, i liked that i liked that me and mom had secrets i felt special ….she didnt want me to tell my dad , at the time i dint know that mom was cheating on dad i thought we were just going places that we werent , and she knew i would never tell my dad cause she drilled it into my head that he was a evil and horrible person that didnt love me and that little girls should only love there mommys so i grew up hating my dad . which no i am greatly sorry for . but any ways my mom started taking me with her every night and she would tell my dad that i needed to go to the store for something so we would go to this guys house or his mechanic shop i would sit in one room they would leave and go to another one i would sit by myself for hours wondering what are they doing she did this to me for two years everynight we would say we were going somewhere ,,, dad wasnt stupid he knew, she would keep me out till like 4 or five in the morning i did horrible in school i failed alot of classes cause i would always be so tired, i finally realized that she didnt love me she was just using me , using me for an excuse to get out of the house. so i stoped going places with her wich made her mad and we stared fighting alot i didnt care i wanted my life back ,my sisters hated me cause they knew what was going on and wanted me to tell my dad but i just couldt i was ashamed . mom began to lie so much that i think she would believe in her own lies , and she will lie about the most stupidest things like one day i asked her what did she eat for lunch i knew she had nothing she said she said i had subway . just stupid crap, on my sisters graduation day mom mom asked me if i needed anything from walmart i told her hair spray she left we didnt see her for three months no phone call nothing it was my dad and sister and 2 little brothers my dad tried so hard to be a dad and a mom at the same time but we were all happy cause she left things were great mom and dad didnt fight anymore cause there was no mom to fight with then one day she came back then left the next then a month later she came back again five days before christmas , my dad had not drank in over 10 years and hat night for some reason he drank alot i really dont know what happened that night i was at a friends but i assume they had been fighting he was drunk he got in his truck left the house and approximetly 30 sec from our house he wrecked and died , the sick part to my story when something like that happens the state takes pictures of the accident and one day like a year after the acciendent my mom came to pick me up to take me to my sisters dress fitting for her wedding and im riding in the car and i needed to put something in the glove box i go to open it and mom says there are pictures of your dad in there you want to see them i was thinking they were happy good pictures , keep in mind my little brothers are in the back seat i open the envolope and its pictures of the wreck with my dad layin on the gound bloody just horrible im thinking how you stupid ***** how could u let me see these . i took them and gave them to my boyfiend to burn i didnt want anyone else to ever see what i had saw.she is sick in the head some how some way .also after dad died my mom tells my that he wasnt even my dad that my dad lives in tennese which was true but she never told my dad that died that he wasnt my father and the guy she would always go see in the begging of the story she told me that he is the father to my 2 little bothers . thats somemessed up stuff , plus its been almost 3 years since dad died and she lies to people constantly about stupid stuff i think she does it because dad is not here anmore for her to lie to so she
Have You Guys Ever Read This Before?
February 24, 2010
Dear Dr. Laura,
Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God’s Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind him that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate.
I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the specific laws and how to best follow them.
a) When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
b) I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
c) I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.
d) Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can’t I own Canadians?
e) I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?
f) A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an Abomination (Lev 11:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don’t agree. Can you settle this?
g) Lev 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?
h) Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev 19:27. How should they die?
i) I know from Lev 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
j) My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? (Lev 24:10-16) Couldn’t we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)
I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help.
Thank you again for reminding us that God’s word is eternal and unchanging.
Your devoted disciple and adoring fan.
Ever Felt Like This Before?
February 23, 2010
i dont care if yahoo answers or anybody else has a problem with my cursing. i am not about to change who i am so if you dont like what i wrote you can suck it and so can yahoo answers.
sometimes i make mistakes and i hound myself, i may not show it externally but inside im tearing myself apart. is this the way i deal with reality? if i do go easy on myself then others were think i am careless when that’s not true… or maybe it is and im in denial…. i just dont understand sometimes. im gonna self destruct if i continue to maul myself but if i dont criticize my actions then i may become too aloof. i notice EVERYTHING, when i talk to people i pay attention to their facialexpressions, tone of voice, body language, even if they act nice i know it can be insincere…. i just want a sincere friendship. one of my problems is that i notice TOO MUCH about people. then at times i fear i notice too little….. i am young so i still have much too learn but i am unsatisfied with what i do no and worried about what i dont know. i might be just venting to an empty forum right now but it feels good to get these negative feelings off my chest and out of my psyche. i dont like to whine or complain, which is why i loath what i am doing right now….. i am such a ******* wimp. i need to grow some ******* balls and quit bitching. yeah my father died, but he wouldnt want me still hurting from his death. the pain has subsided relatively and it’s time for me to quit bitching about it and move on with my ******* life. i havent written a poem in a while besides the one i wrote for jennifer. it was short but sweet. i feel like my talents must please someone in some way, i love to please people and use whatever i have to make someone happy. whether it is hug them, smile at them, hold the door open for them, be polite and curteous towards them, help them do something whether it is a tedious task or a light one…. i want to be the one to lift the burden off of someones life. it makes me feel REALLY good to help everdyay people. i want to be someones friend, i want to be the love of someones life. i want SO much, now it’s time to get off my lathargic *** and go out and do more of these wonderful things but in a BIG way. fear is of the devil, so i should definently take more risks and get ready to go bungie jumping soon. my life is going to change drastically, because im going to change it. whether it takes days, months, years, i cant continue to live in this content little shell. time to break out and expose myself to the world…. then contemplate on how to rule it HAHAHAHA lol im nuts
o well that felt good to get that off my chest
Followup To My Question Before. If It Indeed Was The Truth And Not A Lie, Would It Work?
February 20, 2010
if someone in my family did indeed die and it taught me how short life can be and its best to make amends, then would it work if i tell them about the death and what i learned?
would it show me the kind of friend my ex-friend is?
my previous question is below. ofcourse no one liked it being a lie!
my previous question:
Would this work if i did it? please do not say do not do it, or why would you want to do it?
if i tell a good friend who dumped me(for being a toxic/stressful friend) that some family member passed away and i would like to reconcile with them as i miss then and realized life is so unpredictable and i am sorry for taking things for granted, would that work?
considering i already apologized and they did not forgive me in the past.
please do not tell me do not do it, or it is stupid, or leave them alone.
i want an honest answer please. would it work in the short-term? i know
Poetry Help!!??!?!?!?!??!?!?
February 19, 2010
Credo
Robert Fulghum
All I really need to know
about how to live and what to do and how to be
I learned in kindergarten.
Wisdom was not at the top of the gradute-school mountain,
but there in the sandpile at Sunnday School.
There are the things I learned:
Share everything.
Play fair.
Don’t hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don’t take things that aren’t yours.
Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life-
learn some and think some
and draw and paint and sing and dance and play
and work every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world,
watch out for traffic,
hold hands,
and stick together.
Be aware of wonder.
Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup:
The roots go down and the plant goes up
and nobody really knows how or why,
but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hamsters and white mice
and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup–they all die.
So do we.
And then remember the ****-and-Jane books
and the first word you learned-
the biggest word of all-LOOK.
Everything you need to know is in there somewhere.
The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation.
Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.
Think what a better world it would be if
we all-the whole world-
had cookies and milk about three o’clock every afternoon
and then lay down with our blankies for a nap.
Or if all governments had as a basic policy
to always put things back where they found them
and to dean up their own mess.
And it is still true,
no matter how old you are-
when you go out into the world,
it is best to hold hands and stick together.
Questions:
1.Who is speaking in the poem?
The speaker speaking in the poem is an adult talking about his childhood.
2.What is the tone of the poem?
The poets tone towards to the poem are youth, innocent, and sadness.
3.To whom is the poet speaking?
4.What is the setting of the poem?
5.What does the poem take place?
6.What mood is evoked by the poem?
7.Does the point of view change during the poem?
8.How does the poem make you feel?
9.What is the poet attempting to say? What insight, truth, moment of observation emerges from the poem?
Can you please help me answer those questions and see if i did those two right? Thank you
Also, do you know what is a great way to have a great understanding poetry? Thank you
Life Planning?
February 18, 2010
Okay, so I want to start planning my life out now (at age 16), so that when I’m older, it will be easier, and I can do the things I’ve always wanted to do. Unlike my parents, I want to explore the world. I want to learn about different cultures, and experience as much as I can before I die. Obviously, I need the money to do this. I already have about 70,000 dollars saved up from when I was younger (I wont tell you how 
). That’s more than enough for my schooling, and really you get a part time job so you have enough money to go to school. But, since I already have the money, do I really need a job or should I focus on school? And, where would I get a job? Should I work at my local grocery store, or should I wait until I finish high school and get a job at a graphics design place, somewhere that would help me with my future career? Should I spend a year after high school to travel to Europe, or should I go right into college? Should I spend a year or 2 in college then go to university
Should The Young Man Get The Inheritance?
February 17, 2010
As things stand in the beginning, the boy stands to inherit a lot of money from his uncle when he dies. However, the boy learns that the uncle plans to write him out of the will. Therefore, the boy kills the uncle before his uncle is able to change the will. He is charged with murder and convicted. While in jail, he petitions the probate court for the money he is claims he is due under his dead uncle’s will. The uncle’s sisters vehemently oppose letting the boy collect the money.
The problem: there is no law on the books in that jurisdiction that would prevent the boy from getting his money. The Judge is very perplexed. On one hand, the judge believes it would be unjust for the boy to get the money. On the other hand, the judge says, under the law that is on the books, the boy gets the money. The judge asks you what she ought to do. What do ya think?
Does This Narrative Essay Contain Philosophical Meaning And Is It A,b,c,d, Or F Quality?
February 16, 2010
I am in 11th grade AP English Literature and would like to know if the essay seems appropriate for a coming of age narrative. Also: is it interesting, meaningful, does it bring any questions to mind, believable (in which it is a true personal narrative), clear, or descriptive? Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated, thank you.
A Wild Pack of Wolves
The surging air flowed freely from the gaping wound of a door behind me. A blanket of humidity greeted me now with a suffocating intoxication, quickly reminding me how nice the air-conditioned the department store had been. Trudging along, I began my exile through the parking lot to my car. I left the store behind me and filtered through other corpses that stick baked to the asphalt. My skin glistens and reflects the unforgiving yet naïve sun, the same light that gives the moon its shallow glow. The sun seemed to give this day an individual energy and reality, a true ecstasy giving a hope to those banished from the gaiety of life. Any other day I would have hurried to my car, but today I let the sun’s inescapable veracity sizzle and soak me through, as do novelties a consumer. The tint from inside the car induced the purging of what existed beyond the window from out of what withered inside. Bliss, no matter how much I thought I had wanted it, and tried to get, ended in misery. Who was I fooling; I’m no more human than a puppet that will dance with the flick of a social conformist’s wrist. It’s days like this one that the red curtain retreats before me, giving way to life’s actors who seem to dramatize the same play repeatedly while I watch and recite their next words. I could no longer eat of the apple in all its décor of waxy perfection while this picture hung vainly rotten before me like a day’s till. Is having never tasted the sweetness of truth worse than the infinite dream of a false beauty? I twisted the ignition and cranked the air-conditioning, drinking in my artificial air until I was hydrated enough to adjust to the new light of the car. I sat there, fleeing far from the recesses of the parking lot; from where I sat, I could quietly add up my whole life. However this is no more than what could be fitted inside the plastic bag that lay strewn across the adjacent seat. I sat and wondered about past memories, surfaced from spotting The Jungle Book inside the department store. I wondered, if the boy in the story had continued living with the wolves and lived a lie his whole life, would it be better or worse than living with humans. If his life continued with the wolves he would never know responsibility, love, or religion. On the other hand, is living with humans and knowing hate, jealousy, malice, and vanity better? The time for my innocence had come and left, ripped out of my cradle before I knew whom good, evil, Adam, or Eve was. As I drove away from all that wilderness of the parking lot, all the cries and howls of long ago seemingly transmuted into nothing more than the glimmers of light, reflecting from the stream of asphalt that grew longer, until it became nothing more than the infinite luminosity of the sun that trailed past the distant mountains.
“Travis…Travis…–oh there you are. Hello my name is Doctor Newton and I’ll be your doctor for the next couple of weeks. Now you just come right through this door and we’ll get started with our first session—O.K.?”
I nodded, leaving the quiet emptiness that can only come from a group of people each silently enduring the weekly pain of a not so anticipated doctors appointment. The only detectable manifestation of this pain was the occasional crinkle of a magazine page being turned. As I passed under the ominous arch of the doorframe overhead I prayed silently that I would never have to read any of those magazines again. Doctor Newton’s office was littered with pictures of babies crawling in diapers and clowns with face paint. One clown had a sad face painted on him with a single real tear on his cheek–only the tear had been caked down from all the paint.
A long pause passed before the doctor’s and my eyes met somewhere on her desk; I was sitting on some Playskool desk with paper and crayons.
“So…” the doctor said, “can you tell me why you are here today?”
Another pause passed by without a word. I questioned myself why I was here in the first place and also whether her question was entrapment. Finally, I answered, “I can’t really say, my dad wouldn’t tell me.”
After the brief conversing I was told to “draw a picture—any picture I wanted.”
So I began to draw the clown I saw earlier and a couple other familiar things. I drew for ten minutes and she complimented me on the art. I began to take quick glances at her eyes, for they said what we both knew but only one of us would admit. I wanted to leave. I could feel a stinging pain on the back of my eyes and a queasy sensation in my abdomen.
Doctor Newton cracked the edges of her lips, paused and finally asked, “How do you feel about your mother?”
I uttered silently, “I don’t know—fine I guess.”
“You don’t have any problems you want to share–you know nothing leaves this room,” said Doctor Newton.
I knew she was going to ask, and it came like a reflection in a broken mirror.
“Could you tell me a little about your relationship with your mother and how you feel about her illness?”
The whine of the Ford in the driveway and the horn blow immediately following the clap of a door usually sent happiness through me, enough to send me sailing towards the front door of the house. This evening carried no such melody, only torture. There I sat, listening to the strikes of thunder from her high-heals tear through my heart, and to an awareness of a screaming ever so true. Yet it filled me like a dream that comes like a shadow and all I could do was sit there, paralyzed on the ground next to the door. I knew something was wrong when it should have been right; I could feel the warmth of harmony’s momentary embrace grow desolate as it covered my eyes as I sat crying. The door slammed shut sending a flash of light through the room and then silently returning back beneath the door from where it had abruptly entered. I know not of money, jobs, worry, responsibility, hate, rape, illness, divorce, and now I know not my mother’s eyes before me. These things were cold and sunken, empty shells of the loving and pretty world through which I learned of good and evil. They were dead, destroyed, from another world I had not learned of but heard so much about. I moved down her face to black rivers that tainted the shores of her cheeks. Further down rested a set of vicious white edges, made visible by the panicked wrinkles that made a martyr of her face. I searched violently for my mother, but the closest thing I would ever find to her would be found only in a mirror.
Night came in, relieving shame from the earth and its creatures. I always liked the night for it unmasked the ambiguities of day and gave true shape to what had previously been blinded so childishly by the sun. Tonight I sat in bed and adjusted my eyes enough to see past the glare of the lamp out into the light of night. There was a tall eucalyptus, hunched from the irregularity of its large branches and lack of roots, which grew centered in the lawn and around it was the rest of the backyard lawn. This sanctuary of infinite youthful possibilities tonight would not find relief from the usual cry of laughter, but host the paths of two lives, each tied to survival dependent on the other’s death. The two shadows unveiling themselves, circumvented around the corners of my eyes to find one another at the base of the eucalyptus. There they scratched, bit, tore, and capsized until they became one snarled mess of the same shadow among the sea of grass. I picked up deafly howls and cries, but neither sound belonged to a definite shape. Not until the hissing stopped and one shadow floated erratically back in the direction it had came from could I tell. It was my aged smitten cat Chelsy, but she was the mound of flesh that remained. She had seen night before day, child after parent, prey facing predator, and now she and her tree would see life after death—but never would the roots be less uneven or the leaves greener.
“ ‘And God made the wild beasts of the earth according to their kinds, and domestic animals according to their kinds, and everything that creeps upon the earth was good and He approved it.
God said, Let Us make mankind in Our image, after Our likeness, and let them have complete authority over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, the tame beasts, and over all of the earth, and over everything that creeps upon the earth–,’ ”
“Why did God create us?”
“I don’t quite know, maybe God got lonely or maybe he just wanted praise,” Mommy answered. I bent my neck backwards and gawked at her. Her eyes were recoiled and wounded as before, but a little warmth still radiated in the sparkle I always remember her having. I have seen her look at others but the glint of light never shows itself.
“Honey why don’t you just let me finish so we can go to bed,” said Mommy exhaustingly.
“O.K., but I have already heard this part tell another,” I cheered.
“How about this, ‘And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food and that it was delightful to look at, and a tree to be desired in order to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she gave some also to her husband, and he ate.
Then the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves apron-like girdles.
And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden—’ ”
“Why did God make the tree? And was God angry at them?”
“Honey, how can a parent ever be angry at a child, except for when that child is no longer one anymore. Even then a parent’s love never dies. God doesn’t create bad people only bad situations. If you remember anything I ever tell you remember this, Love is what you don’t give not what you do give. Maybe truth is supposed to be glorious because you know what love is and you are closer to God for it. So maybe Bliss is what defines innocence and choice is what defines love. If a person doesn’t have choice can they ever really know true love?”
I was now asleep, only I was dreaming dreams that have no place inside a child. Murky dreams where I could feel my teeth come loose and scrape the sides of my mouth, then dangle from the veins that give them life. All the while I watch helplessly the scene of my Mommy willingly feeding herself to a pack of wild wolves. I feel no pain, no emotion, I only watch while I frantically try to understand why I don’t stop her. Upon waking, I could see the door to my now dark room, it was cracked transcending a long triangular light across my bed and up onto the edge of my pillow next to my face. On the illuminated sliver of my pillow I could see pools of dampness that had been absorbed into the inner depths of the cushioning. I sat there, face down wondering if the wet was from tears or saliva, for I had none on my face.
I had already been seated along side the cul-de-sac curb when the shadow of Dad’s Bronco screeched and eased to a halt, blocking the evening sun from my view. The faint circular outline of the moon could already be seen directly overhead. The curb upon which I sat was still warm, the only remnant left of the Sun’s presence in the horseshoe shaped neighborhood that crowned the hill on which it rested. I placed my right hand on the curb for I no longer needed to shield my eyes from the glare angled off from the side-view mirror on the Bronco. The brown cardboard box of memories that lay between my legs lined up with the back tire of the Bronco. These few random objects I managed to salvage before my Dad told me we had to go held no value, but they were the best I could find. A stuffed wolf Mommy had given me for Valentine’s one year sat on the surface of the opened box. Wolves for as long as I could remember had been my favorite animals but now the stuffed sentiment left me with a sickening feeling inside. The sensation wrenched onto my heart, turning it black with blood, until the failure of it all floated down to the pit of my stomach. I flipped the wolf on its face after having seen my opaquely convex reflection in the wolf’s testing eyes. Dad’s words still rung loudly in my fragile skull, forever trapping the question of what my Mommy really was. How could she be? My Mommy of six years could not have a mental illness. Could I still love her? Did she still love me? And ever more troubling, whom could I believe, my Dad or my Mommy? The only truth I could decipher was through the back window of my Dad’s Bronco, for I could see my mother’s face as it grew smaller. She was kneeling down against the garage door, each hand covering one eye; and so the sparkle was gone forever and so was I.
Although I could not bear to look up into Doctor Newton’s eyes I knew from her utter silence that she too was on the verge of tears. If she could see through all that saturation she would have found a boy who once knew the sweet clap of a rubber ball on concrete, a boy who could have told her the difference between the way a blue crayon and a red crayon smells, and too a boy that once knew the sweet taste that fruit could give in the shimmering presence of an ice-cream truck’s innocent call. But today she only found what made all those memories so precious.
Doctor Newton whispered, “that’s enough for today, you may go.”
And so I did, leaving her with nothing to look at but all those frowns of babies and clowns.