April 30, 2020

Consciousness in Quarantine: I Am My Father’s Son.

My dad used to get upset with me whenever politics came up.

My father knew all the tax laws, particularly as they related to small business, of which he was a proud owner.

He would scold me for not knowing the names of politicians active in the media. He would then expand that to my generation, lambasting us all in one group of spoiled kids, and then if he tumbled, he might then rip me for having an Audi, or having a hairdresser instead of Al, the local barber. ⁣

The thing is, I was his only son—I let him have this outlet. I represented the careless, thoughtless, irresponsible generation of children who loved excess, things, experiences over knowledge, and quick fixes. While he was irrational, often heated, offensive, and short tempered, he also had a huge heart. His words and feelings were in defense of the good—his employees, his wife, and his desire to fill his son with knowledge and preparedness.

My understanding of who he was underneath all the visible pain and frustration about the world we lived in was enough for me to grin through these sessions, which I was so adept at handling. I was careful only to smile on the inside—as any show of the nonchalant or apathetic would fire him up even more into the aggressive. The reality was, I was laid back and unemotional.

I was also sure that despite our polar opposite approaches, we both felt the same. We were kindred in our sadness and ache for humanity. We were all, to a degree, forced to swim in the same pool.

And as I sit with my mom this morning, enjoying her, my dog, and my coffee, I hear the sounds of a faceless, nameless person filled with drama and showmanship, as she fills my brain with fear about this second wave of this pandemic, which the world will need to brace for.

I don’t know what’s real. ⁣And as her voice fades, my brain goes to a place where I can sit quietly, in the dark, and say no to all these voices.

I see so much of life as a game. I don’t know exactly how to fit into that game, so often, I just don’t play. ⁣

I’d rather sit in the dark, up high of course.

Because it’s not darkness. It’s just dark. ⁣

It’s peace. ⁣


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