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When I get up for a bathroom run, Pop is at the kitchen sink with his arms folded around himself. He had been drinking this evening, not so unusually, and was no doubt rehearsing and re-rehearsing in his little mind the performance he was about to give, digging in deep for his inner macho-man, this deluded scullion. As has been my practice, I had taken the clock down from the kitchen wall. I know he was not happy with my practice, but he had never been as ass about it before. In addition to the beer, he was obviously stressed out from losing his I.D. card, and probably frustrated that Lorie keeps putting him off, not wanting to be with him (unless maybe he is taking her out to eat and see a movie), and I am the only person in the world over whom he can play Mr.Big Man, and the mean pleasure of this outweighs with him the fact that I am his only true flesh & blood son, always preferring to resent and discount my strengths while glorying and exulting in my weaknesses, my dependency on him, who would take greater pleasure in putting me down rather than from building me up.
He says, or, rather, yells, or shrieks, slurring his words, "I know I got a thing about clocks. I can't explain it. I'm 74 years old and I shouldn't have to explain myself!" Indeed, in spite of the toxicity of this conversation, I was reminded that he did just have a birthday, which probably helps to account for him making an issue of his age here. I argued for my need of sleep, the need to be free from that constant tick-tocking, but I should have made more of the fact that he had been drinking. Although he is generally reasonably considerate, perhaps even more than is truly reasonable, he can be a different animal when he is drunk.
You know how I easily become disturbed and anxiety-ridden, paranoiac. During this episode, as I stood there before a fuming, screaming little old man, I became afraid that the end is too near now. If Pop were to stay on this course, then maybe I cannot live here anymore. When death becomes more of a reality for me, I appreciate more what I have been doing with my life. I loathe the thought of no longer reading about Thomas Mann, of not being able to get in deep with Orwell, and I think of all the wonderful books that I will have to leave unread. I try to appreciate that such a loss cannot be felt by the dead, and that none of it matters anyway, and is not this wretched loneliness too much anyway?
I understood that his good health could not last forever, but it can feel unfair that my life should be shortened just because he needs to feel like a big man in his withering old age. I didn't see that angle.
He says, or, rather, yells, or shrieks, slurring his words, "I know I got a thing about clocks. I can't explain it. I'm 74 years old and I shouldn't have to explain myself!" Indeed, in spite of the toxicity of this conversation, I was reminded that he did just have a birthday, which probably helps to account for him making an issue of his age here. I argued for my need of sleep, the need to be free from that constant tick-tocking, but I should have made more of the fact that he had been drinking. Although he is generally reasonably considerate, perhaps even more than is truly reasonable, he can be a different animal when he is drunk.
You know how I easily become disturbed and anxiety-ridden, paranoiac. During this episode, as I stood there before a fuming, screaming little old man, I became afraid that the end is too near now. If Pop were to stay on this course, then maybe I cannot live here anymore. When death becomes more of a reality for me, I appreciate more what I have been doing with my life. I loathe the thought of no longer reading about Thomas Mann, of not being able to get in deep with Orwell, and I think of all the wonderful books that I will have to leave unread. I try to appreciate that such a loss cannot be felt by the dead, and that none of it matters anyway, and is not this wretched loneliness too much anyway?
I understood that his good health could not last forever, but it can feel unfair that my life should be shortened just because he needs to feel like a big man in his withering old age. I didn't see that angle.
