Remember that little note I e-mailed to my father right before my birthday? I forgot entirely about it until today. There are, so far, four replies.
To refresh your memory, here is what happened last time.
RE: Hi dad, it’s my 25th birthday this week – Uhmm …
*I don’t want this to be easily indexed. |
So that one letter pretty much re-caps the general themes of the last batch – the corrupt and evil government that is out to kill him is working in collusion with my vindictive mother to brainwash me and destroy my talents. It’s evident that he hasn’t gotten any medical attention. He is still, yes, bonkers.
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I don’t know very much about my grandfather, except he was a jazz musician and an alcoholic. My grandmother loved him very much when they were young. (They had a ridiculous number of children, too). I don’t know if I’ve ever been to Sardis. It’s in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Wishing Well, Toots – missing ya huge
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My friend Blake put it best a few years ago when, over dinner in Victoria with the other One Yellow Rabbits, he kindly asked, “So when did your father fall off the edge of the world?”
RE: Hi dad, it’s my 25th birthday this week
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And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I’ve found in there so far. A continued obsession with my mother, her (dead? fictional?) roommate Mary, my ex-stepmother Sarina, the christian government that wants us all dead, and a very strange note on hookers, which may or may not imply my father spent time as a pimp. Rock on.
So, what was your childhood like?





