Thursday, August 23, 2012

Prescient Comment

Overheard an elderly gentleman talking to one of our talented Booze Emporium employees yesterday. He was talking about his son and he said "Of course he's not the son anymore, he's the father."
I know you are saying come on Joe, you're such a drama queen, you heard what you wanted to hear.
Nope. Heard it clearly.
He's not the son anymore, he's the father.
What a heavy duty comment. Life flips around on you. You roll down the road pushing forward, thinking you are making progress and at some point, some point that is inevitable and a place you don't want to get to, life starts moving backwards.
I hope I have many more years ahead of me before I become the son again.
But as I think about it, what is my definition as father even now? My sons are 32 and  28. Living their own lives, pursuing their own futures.
I'm certainly not a role model, they are both doing better than me. I don't teach them anything at this point, I learn from them. I don't see them anywhere near as often as I would like to so I am not a constant presence in their lives.
The slide has begun.
It occurs to me as I fight for a spec of decency in my life before it's too late, that I am also fighting to remain a dad.
I guess we are as much friends at this point as we are father and sons. And I am happy about that. We laugh together a lot when we are together and I'm pretty sure they don't leave me and say "What a pain in the ass the old man is." Not all fathers get to say that, to experience that.
I am 58. Still seeking, still searching, still defining and redefining. Eternally trying to understand.
Better than watching Beverly Hillbillies re-runs with a blood stream full of oxycontin.

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