BACK BLOG
How'd i get like this? Near as i can recollect everything was going good until about '56. That's when little brother appeared out of nowhere. I was just getting used to having the old man (back from Korea) and another brother (appearing out of nowhere also) around, when the grinning, sweating, red faced giant sitting across from me came into my life in the form of a gurgling, screaming little shit. I looked down and a stream of caustic piss hit me square in the face. This kinda set the tone.
By the time he was old enough to stand up, he was old enough to knock down. I solicited the other sibling into my cruel game. We delighted in pummeling our new found punching bag. Like our blow up Joe Palooka, he kept bobbing back up and coming in for more. I began to think he liked our sadistic game. That took all the fun out of it for me. Years passed and I turned the cold shoulder. I pretended he didn't exist. Then one day something happened that caught my attention.
Seems the two younger ones had found a pack of Lucky Strikes and were lighting up in the cellar. They got popped and the old man's way of dealing was to sit them down at the kitchen table and open a fresh pack. He snipped off the filters, passed one butt to each, and lit them up. I smelled smoke and moved in for the show. The older one folded fast in a coughing fit and the old man leaned back with a self satisfied grin. A terse lecture followed and attention was turned back to the little one, obliviously puffing away. "Don't just blow out the smoke." my father instructed. "Swallow it." Seeing this as a helpful suggestion, he did just that. Thin wisps of smoked leaked between baby teeth. "Aren't you going to have one Daddy?" he asked, not to be rude. I was impressed.
A full week of after dinner smoking sessions followed. It became a spectator sport to see who would fold first. "How do you blow smoke rings" the puffing baby asked, his tiny fingers stained yellow with nicotine. "ENOUGH!" my mother eventually exclaimed, putting a stop to the stand off. The old man had developed a nasty cough and went to bed every night with a dizzying headache. The kid didn't seem to be affected at all. From then on I saw him in a different light. Sure, I still beat the crap out of him. But I couldn't ignore him anymore.
He reached across the table and stroked my long greasy hair with a menacing touch. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" I cringed. I knew I deserved much worse than a bruised ego, but I sure didn't want him to know that. I said nothing, clenching my fists under the table trying desparately to remember any karate move that might put him down if he came in for the kill. The rest of the family swirled about us in a holiday blur, laughing, drinking, arguing, not paying the least attention to what was transpiring between us. My sister came between us and asked if everything was alright? "I need another beer." little brother said, got up and disappeared outside. I'd forgotten to breathe. The air escaped between my lips like a leaking balloon.
I could feel the cold, sharp edge of Damacle's sword against the back of my neck. Could it be that all debts had come due? Or was it just the rich food and too many Coronas? I quickly ran through a list of people to be notified in case of my untimely demise. Had I written this down anywhere? Would half of them even bother to come to the funeral? It was so hard getting people out of the city for any reason. Then there was the issue of suspicious husbands, kids that had to be dropped off at piano lessons. Maybe best to just keep it immediate family. Hell, wouldn't it be the one time I WOULDN'T care who showed? Better to just look for something heavy to hit him with and hope for the best.
By the time he was old enough to stand up, he was old enough to knock down. I solicited the other sibling into my cruel game. We delighted in pummeling our new found punching bag. Like our blow up Joe Palooka, he kept bobbing back up and coming in for more. I began to think he liked our sadistic game. That took all the fun out of it for me. Years passed and I turned the cold shoulder. I pretended he didn't exist. Then one day something happened that caught my attention.
Seems the two younger ones had found a pack of Lucky Strikes and were lighting up in the cellar. They got popped and the old man's way of dealing was to sit them down at the kitchen table and open a fresh pack. He snipped off the filters, passed one butt to each, and lit them up. I smelled smoke and moved in for the show. The older one folded fast in a coughing fit and the old man leaned back with a self satisfied grin. A terse lecture followed and attention was turned back to the little one, obliviously puffing away. "Don't just blow out the smoke." my father instructed. "Swallow it." Seeing this as a helpful suggestion, he did just that. Thin wisps of smoked leaked between baby teeth. "Aren't you going to have one Daddy?" he asked, not to be rude. I was impressed.
A full week of after dinner smoking sessions followed. It became a spectator sport to see who would fold first. "How do you blow smoke rings" the puffing baby asked, his tiny fingers stained yellow with nicotine. "ENOUGH!" my mother eventually exclaimed, putting a stop to the stand off. The old man had developed a nasty cough and went to bed every night with a dizzying headache. The kid didn't seem to be affected at all. From then on I saw him in a different light. Sure, I still beat the crap out of him. But I couldn't ignore him anymore.
He reached across the table and stroked my long greasy hair with a menacing touch. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" I cringed. I knew I deserved much worse than a bruised ego, but I sure didn't want him to know that. I said nothing, clenching my fists under the table trying desparately to remember any karate move that might put him down if he came in for the kill. The rest of the family swirled about us in a holiday blur, laughing, drinking, arguing, not paying the least attention to what was transpiring between us. My sister came between us and asked if everything was alright? "I need another beer." little brother said, got up and disappeared outside. I'd forgotten to breathe. The air escaped between my lips like a leaking balloon.
I could feel the cold, sharp edge of Damacle's sword against the back of my neck. Could it be that all debts had come due? Or was it just the rich food and too many Coronas? I quickly ran through a list of people to be notified in case of my untimely demise. Had I written this down anywhere? Would half of them even bother to come to the funeral? It was so hard getting people out of the city for any reason. Then there was the issue of suspicious husbands, kids that had to be dropped off at piano lessons. Maybe best to just keep it immediate family. Hell, wouldn't it be the one time I WOULDN'T care who showed? Better to just look for something heavy to hit him with and hope for the best.
posted by mike osterhout at 10:12 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home