ME
I have written about my biological father in previous posts as some of you might recall. He is a bit of a crack-head with the hiv and other diseases he has contracted through intravenous drug use. However over the past 8 years my brother and I have spent some “quality” time with him, although not by choice.
My form of quality time with my father came after a drunken arrest. My incarceration was directly and solely related to my father and his criminal past. I hadn’t spoken to my father in the months prior to ending up in court the day after Christmas. I’m sure I’d seen him on Thanksgiving which probably yielded some small talk but nothing significant or poignant.
I arrived at court in my Sunday best or as my co-defendants exclaimed “looking like a school teacher”. We were all sitting together in the court room when my father walked in. I shrunk down in the back of the court pew wondering what the fuck he was doing here. I assumed he had caught a case himself and was present for the hearing. Of course Josh and Jody (my co-defendants) loudly say, “Isn’t that your dad.” I said “No,” they said, “I know you don’t see him much but that is definitely your dad.” I said, “Fuck.” He spotted me and walked over. I said hello, and made small talk and asked what he had done to end up in court. He said nothing and that he was here to walk me through my first court hearing. My father has never shown up to a school play, sports event, recital or a milestone birthday but he decided to show up to the one event that I really didn’t need him for, especially since I have a B.S. in Criminal Justice.
So we make small talk. He tells me about the Hep-C drugs he is talking. I suggest some others that might be less abrasive since that is my field.
After hours of sitting in the court room they call my name. I go up and plead not guilty while my father stands proudly behind me. Most of the court staff knew him by name; they aske
d how he is doing and if I was his girlfriend. I damn near smacked him. Do I look like I’d date a crack-head? After my plea we proceeded to the back room where the lawyer that both my father and brother have on retainer asked if I need representation. I kindly declined. I spoke with the prosecutor who found the charge of resisting arrest peculiar, so he dropped the case; I just had to pay a $50 court fee.
I think they knew spending the day in court with my father was punishment enough and that I cannot be faulted for genetics.
MY BROTHER
My brother was not so fortunate to spend just a day in court with my father. Hell, he was not so fortunate just to spend the day in court, period. He had the opportunity to spend a few months in lock-up with my father as his roommate.
Recently during a family gathering the size of my father’s penis had come up in conversation. Over the years my sisters and I had heard stories of his mythically large penis. My brother confided that while they were doing time together that he discovered that indeed our father’s penis was huge, so much so that he felt gyped. Needless to say hysterics arose. Out of extreme curiosity I asked my brother to describe exactly how big he was talking. My brother’s eyes lifted and he tilted and shook his head struggling to think of the words to describe my father enormous penis. As he stared off into a corner he slowly said, “It’s like two coke cans”, we busted out in an uproar of laughter. We were all laughing so hard but my brother was still staring into the corner like he hadn’t finished thinking. Slowly our laughter died down and my brother announced, “And a muffin, it’s as big as two coke cans and a muffin.”
Hysterics ensued.
This was the explanation to one of my earlier posts. See Day 47: Alistair is a Cunt!
