2:23 a.m. - 2002-05-13
linus
(originally posted here.)
irony is a big thing for me. even in the worst moments of my life, it has always been there, sort of like linus's ratty blanket. both in the classic sense of security, and in the sense of mobility. linus didn't have a blanket sprouting out of his ass; he toted it around with him wherever he went.
i realized the signifigance of this when i was about seventeen. i was pacing around my kitchen, indulging in the prerequisite bow to teenaged angst that comes along with being, well, a teenager. my father was rattling off all of the things parents aren't supposed to say to their offspring, but invariably do (when they are frustrated, or angry). sometimes, they make a habit out of it (if they are cruel, or bitter).
i remember i was chopping something, which is rare for me... cooking anything that doesn't involve the microwave as an integral part of the process is not usually my thing. but i had this knife with a black handle and a thin, silver, serrated edge. i finished chopping, and looked over at my father. he was hunched over the kitchen table in a white linen shirt, and the glean of the overhead light was reflecting off of the top of his head.
he didn't turn around. and these hateful things were pouring out of him; how i would never become anything worth his time, how i wasn't worth anything, how dissapointed he was that i ended up like i had. how i would never be even half the person he was. he couldn't understand how that had happened, that i should turn out so... lacking. he had forgotten more that i would ever know. it (i) was pathetic, really.
and he's still talking, and i am sitting there with the knife, and suddenly, i think how ironic this situation really is. i was pressing my thumb against the back part of the handle, and the blade was pointed towards the wide expanse of white that was his shirt. i didn't feel anything. i wasn't hurt, or angry, or crying, or whining. i just thought: it's amazing, the inherent trust we place in other people. here this mother-fucker is, saying disgusting, horrifying things that are made even more horrifying because i have heard them, in one form or another, enough times to secretly affirm their truth... and he has his back to me. and i have this knife. and how easy it would be to just stab him in the back, so to speak. not hard at all. like pushing into steak.
i set the knife in the sink just then. i was afraid, not because of what he was saying, or because of the things he had/would do to me... but because for a few seconds there, time stood still. and i was completely dispassionate, logical, clinical. i could see how easily serial killers do their killing. and that is never a good perspective to capture, especially when one has a sharp object in their hand.
the casual noting of the irony is what snapped me out of it. how ridiculous it was that this man should be my father, and how fathers are supposed to be the last ones to say such things to their daughters... and since he was my father i was supposed to take it in stride, though i have never before or since had such a conglomeration of searing words tossed in my direction, even from strangers or friends that grew to hate me.
i just had to laugh: at him, sitting there like a rounded white linen lump with pink, shiny skin; at the sheer stupidity of the situation in general. at the fact that just a few moments earlier, my knuckles were turning white from the pressure i was exerting on a knife handle, with the blade pointed right at his sorry, oblivious ass. his ass (and the rest of him) is still oblivious to this day, as far as i know.
of course, the laughing didn't help matters in terms of a simple cause/effect immediacy; in fact, it really pissed him off. but it cooled me down, thank god. and i have my ratty ironic blanket to thank.
ever since then, no matter how angry/sad/hurt i get, there is always some solace to be taken from the grim humor of the situation. i take it with me from place to place, from event to event... and though i hope that i will never encounter one as severe as the memory i described above, irony can be found mostly everywhere, in varying degrees.
and when you are down and out, any excuse to smile and get on with it is something to be grateful for.
i don't know why i wrote all that. maybe because it has been a while since i have been personal with anyone, even myself. i am taking some time to get re-acquainted with the parts that make up me; the good, the bad, and the ugly.
and on that note, i am going to retire. got a party to host tomorrow, and i feel... calm. the good, the bad, and the ugly have ceased to be the black and white of my younger days. instead, i am heading to bed comforted by memories faded to beautiful shades of grey. i have long held this belief when it came to other's opinions and actions, but i am finally learning how to apply that formula to myself. both in word, and in deed.
i don't judge my father for what happened on that day, not anymore. but more importantly, i don't judge me.
