My father really wanted me to join the Canadian military.
He and I had many beers around the grand ideas of
seeing the world, meeting new buddies and hope
fully growing up because after all, I was seven
teen and what better time and way to be all
that you can be but in the army. To both
our surprise though, I failed miserably at
becoming one of the country’s proud fighting personnel
and it took me decades to understand how dad knew all along I would.
Thank you, friend.
Barry out.
I had to wait until my father died to write this because I feel so strongly about his missed choices he foisted upon me. Fucker.
http://youtu.be/34CXcgJURbg
Having someone try to break your spirit is a weird and wild thing.
I mean, what the fuck is a human spirit anyway and how does one “break it?”
Turns out there’s a system for doing it but uh, only bad parents, the “bad” cop and drill sergeants know what that is.
I found the process interesting but in a detached way.
Course the military must break you, make you and then you make them.
And yourself proud by rushing without question into battle.
Now that I was a failed soldier and everyone knew it, how bout buying the family business and farm?
No one else wanted it and the Royal Bank was coming to town.
They were eager for customers and our family needed cash.
And uh, I wasn’t gonna be a soldier. Did I mention that?
This is where dad taught me how to purchase dead horses.
I repeated this several times and each time it got stinkier and stinkier until I could no longer stand my own stench.
Me and expired ponies don’t mix anymore.
Praise the lawd. and in dad’s case: lord.