Thursday, January 27, 2005

I talked to my nephew Brian last night.

I've seen Brian once in the last fifteen years. He's my oldest brother Ken's second son, by his first wife, the one who I recently learned was a bona fide whore.

The wife, that is, not Brian.

My primary memories of Brian are as this screechy little two year old, who would throw tantrums if his mother left the room. Who would start wailing if she so much as moved in her chair. My parents used to call him Cryin' Brian. That rhymes, you see.

The guy I talked to last night was bright and funny. He sounded genuinely proud of his five year old daughter (a surprise that was sprung on him a couple of years ago by an ex-girlfriend). He talked about how important she was to him, and how he takes her places on his weekends with her, and how he and his ex make a point of staying friends for her.

He's made mistakes. We all have. But he's also thought a lot about life, and works hard to try to make his (and his daughter's) a good one.

Intellectually, I didn't expect him to still be Cryin' Brian, I guess. I think I just have this subconscious picture of my life in Tacoma as being somehow trapped in amber, that as long as my dad lives in this house, no one and nothing will ever change.

Of course, I say this even as I complain that they can't see me as an adult, so what the fuck do I know anyway?

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

On a different note:
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?