Autumn Arrives

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Autumn flew in from Oakland yesterday afternoon. I drove to the Boise airport meeting her as she was walking out of the gate area. She was wearing one of her low cut tight tops, a light lime green one with buttons up the middle that does tasteful justice to her cleavage. Short sleeves hugged her shoulders. Autumn seemed to walk towards me with a gentle sway to her hips that made the black skirt with red roses she was wearing flow enticingly over her legs. She’s got curves in all the right places. Autumn wore bright red lipstick, the kind that makes me weak in the knees and drives me crazy. She looked damn good smiling as I walked up to her. I held Autumn tightly in my arms for a few moments before we picked up her suitcase and left the airport terminal holding each other’s hands.

We had planned to stay here in the Boise area for a few days. Just enough time to deal with Mom’s funeral services and wake, then start the two day drive back to California. My aunt and uncle had invited her to stay with us at their house but Autumn felt like we should have more privacy together. I booked us into the Eagle Hilton. It was close enough to Dad’s house as well as the funeral home.

During the night at the hotel I was barely able to get any solid sleep. A couple of things were rolling around in my mind that no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t shut off to stop thinking about them. I anticipated having some sort of a breakdown in front of strangers at Mom’s funeral. Would I be strong enough to keep my shit together? Probably not. The other thing was Autumn had made arrangements to spend a few hours alone with Dad on a road trip out of town the last morning here. I was real unhappy about that.

When I was a teenager in high school and started dating girls, every time Dad got to meet one of my girlfriends he did anything he could to sabotage my relationships. I learned some tough lessons the hard way. As I grew older I came up with a policy of keeping Dad away from whomever my girlfriend was at the time. Autumn is hands-down the most stubborn woman I have ever been with. She does whatever she wants whenever she wants to regardless of my wishes. If I do not agree with her plans, Autumn starts an argument with me and then goes ahead to do stuff anyway. I was vehemently against her spending time alone with Dad because he would talk shit about me to Autumn. Guaranteed. Then she would probably run her mouth too, unknowingly giving Dad a bunch of fresh dirt to use against me in the near future. I didn’t voice my displeasure though because I wanted to avoid the inevitable argument it would have caused between Autumn and myself. I kept quiet and took the hit.

No matter what I have done in my life it has never been good enough for my father. He convinced himself long ago I’m no good. A loser. Little more than a lousy bum. He’s told me that over and over again so many times that I nicknamed him “Broken Record.”

Autumn might have meant well. She might have convinced herself that she was doing something to help by talking privately to Dad for a few hours. Autumn is frequently misguided though, not realizing that her direct involvement is making everything much worse. Certainly more complicated.

This morning we woke up in a rush to get dressed and head out early for a cup of coffee before arriving at Mom’s funeral. There’s a small coffee shop not far from The Chapel Of The Chimes that we decided to step inside and caffeinate ourselves before going to Mom’s services. Whoever runs that place has a good sense of humor. Their sign above the front entrance made me laugh for the first time in weeks when I read it.

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~ by factorypeasant on January 5, 2007.

6 Responses to “Autumn Arrives”

  1. I can attest that it wasn’t only girlfriends that Factory Peasant’s dad talked smack to about Factory Peasant. I met Factory Peasant in junior high. His dad took an instant liking to me. Among Factory Peasant’s friends, I was among the very few that his dad approved of. I was on the wrestling team, my hair wasn’t long, it wasn’t died, and I had no pierced ears. The list of requirements is a little bit longer than that, but most of FP’s friends flunked at least one of the above criteria. FP’s dad was a real product of the 50’s, although it’s completely unfair to slur an entire decade because of him. Basically I mean that his father had a real determination of what guys are and what girls are and was not, when confronted with teenagers rebelling with long, died hair and piercings, inclined to go to the self help section of Waldenbooks and buy “What I As A Father Can Do To Better Understand And Accept My Son Who Does Not See The World As I Do” (side note: Wad, I realize I’m supposed to underline book titles, but I see no underline option).

    Anyway, about ten years ago I was walking somewhere and FP’s dad pulled over to give me a ride. While in the car, FP’s dad regaled me with a laundry list of ways that his son was fucking up. I forget the list and I certainly forget the particular argument details. They all kind of blend together into one. If curious, go back and read the archives, pick at random any six of the ways FP has disappointed his dad, and probably half of them will be on the list recited in the truck.

    Seeing on his face the turmoil of a man who had gone through years of therapy, hundreds of fathers getting in touch with their feminine sides meetings, paid tens of thousands of dollars into a college trust fund without every reminding his son of it, and at his wit’s end on how to simply give his son a hug and tearfully say “I love you, son”, I did what I always do in these situation and always regret afterwards: played peacemaker.

    “Factory Peasant’s dad, I hear your pain and your guilt. As much as you blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault. Some people just aren’t compatible. Other than constantly beating Factory Peasant up, kicking him out of the house, threatening to kick him out of the house, abusing him in front of his mother, abusing his mother in front of him, vandalizing his car, lighting his cat on fire, and posting naked baby pictures of him at the high school, you’ve been a perfect dad.” Then I stupidly shared some personal information that FP had told me (can’t remember what) in the belief (again stupidly) that his dad would use this information to help better understand him and not, hell I don’t know, immediately go home and blab the whole thing to his wife, completely ignore the entire purpose of my telling him this intimate knowledge and instead simply adding this new information to his long list of ways that his son is a complete loser piece of shit panty waste ingrate fag.

    I called Factory Peasant a few days later.

    “What the fuck do you want?”, FP snarled.

    “Uh, do you want to go to the mall?”

    “With you, you backstabbing piece of shit? You cock-sucking, come-guzzling traitorous Benedict Arnold commie pinko fag! You want ME to go to the mall with YOU? Fuck you! Fuck you! You ruined my life! I’m gonna come over there, make a nail-covered baseball bat in your woodshop, stick a meathook up your ass, hang you upside down from a tree, slice open your stomach, shove five pounds of candy into it, duct tape your stomach shut, skin you alive, and invite all the little kids in the neighborhood over for a pinata party with the nail-covered baseball bat! I’m gonna cut off your dick and repeatedly sodomize you with your own dick! I’m gonna film the whole thing and replay it in a loop in front of your eyes as you slowly die an agonizing death!”

    “Yeah, with me. Say, I need to borrow a couple of bucks too. Pick me up in an hour.”

    Later, at the mall, Factory Peasant told me what had happened. “After my dad dropped you off, he immediately went home and blabbed the whole thing to my mom, completely ignored the entire purpose of you telling him this intimate knowledge and instead simply added this new information to his long list of ways I’m a complete loser piece of shit panty waste ingrate fag.”

    Anyway, there’s my story. I may have gotten some of the details wrong, but I’m pretty sure about the part where I told FP’s dad some private information and he in turn acted like a complete douchebag.

  2. I think you made this whole story up Vernon Dozier, if that is your real name. Folks, check it out. First my dad picked Vernon up in a car, then later Vernon says they’re in a truck. Vern, you got so tied up in the torture part of the story that you couldn’t keep your lies straight.

    Brandy

    P.S. O.K. dad, pay up. I posted a bullshit post here backing you up like you asked. Where’s the hundred bucks you promised me?

    P.P.S. Shit. Did I just write that instead of thinking it aloud?

  3. damn d00d. you went a little haywire there. hehe. i don’t really remember that episode. i know we talked about it before but there’s no way i would have yelled at you like that. there’s only one thing that made me curse up a storm of foul words and it wasn’t you. no, the thing that made me hate upon the world was those god damned vacuum driven headlight assemblies on the Cougar. fuck. i still hate ’em and i haven’t had that car around in years now.

    just so we get things straight my pop would never seek out any self help shit. no books or counselling. he only went to see a psychiatrist after he was forced to. so he’d never read a self help book on his own. he always viewed that kind of thing as displaying weakness to those around him. he wouldn’t be caught dead reading a self help book or showing any kind of real emotion to anyone. shit, he even failed at AA. how lame is that? pretty fuckin’ lame hombre.

  4. damn nice story v.d. i believe that fp was mean to you. thru no
    fault of your own. ive seen fp extremely pissed off. when reminded, he “forgets”… w\e

  5. aight i gots it now. dad is frontin an needs b-randy to back his shit up,,, got it? another thin why is it dat b-randy is new on here? or did you forgit about it already,,,

  6. http://alzheimersforget.ytmnd.com/

    http://otinf.ytmnd.com/

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