LVII. Trusting Pigeons?
One day, a few years ago, on a lazy summer afternoon, I was lying down on a towel in the backyard with my pa. like usual, he had a stiff cocktail in his hand but he began to snore. squinting my eyes, i looked up to see a pair of pigeons soaring through the air, flying back and forth, playing with each other. i began to laugh and try to encourage them to play, "Play my little flying friends!" I yelled. Well, this brought my pa out of his slumber.
Angered, he told my to quiet down and slapped me across the face, which he always told me was a sign that he loved me. My dad use to love me a lot when I was younger. He would hit me with just about everything: his boot, his belt, the butt of his gun. I love my Dad.
About this time, he took a long pull from his drink and began to lay back down when all of the sudden a hunk of bird droppings fell from the sky and landed gently on my Dad's cheek. I began to laugh and laugh. "Look Dad, you have poo poo on your face. HAHAHA, my little flying friends played a trick on..." WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! I was silenced.
When I came to, Pa was standing with a shotgun upon his shoulder aiming at the two pigeons in the air BAM! BAM! He shots those two pigeons and all that was left were two fluffs of feathers falling to the ground. I began to shed a tear for I had just lost my two little flying friends.
"You cut that out. Those damn....hiccup...pigeons shat on me. You can't.....hiccup....trust those animals...Hiccup. This is a....hiccup...celebration." Pa pulled from behind his back a bottle of champagne. Pa began to uncork the bottle of champagne when all of the sudden I heard shrieks and a ton of flapping. I looked at my Pa for help but he was surrounded by a horde of pigeons. I heard a loud pop, and ol' Pa fell to the ground.
The pigeons subsided, but Pa just lay there. I went towards him and leaned down. He was bleeding from his nose, but he quickly grabbed my arm. He began to whisper, ""Every boy becomes a man, my boy, but not every man can become a boy like your old man."
I never quite knew what he was talking about that day but I will take those words to the grave.
That was the last I ever talked to my poor Pa. The corkscrew must have hit him square in the nose and caused brain damage, but they don’t believe me. I loved him so much that I decided to show him one last time the extent of my love. I ran to the tool shed and grabbed his old baseball bat and began to pummel him with it hoping that he would feel my love for he had taught me well.
The cops never believed my story. I tried to explain about the attacking pigeons and my love for my dad, but they didn’t buy it. And to this day, I am very, very distrustful of pigeons.
Angered, he told my to quiet down and slapped me across the face, which he always told me was a sign that he loved me. My dad use to love me a lot when I was younger. He would hit me with just about everything: his boot, his belt, the butt of his gun. I love my Dad.
About this time, he took a long pull from his drink and began to lay back down when all of the sudden a hunk of bird droppings fell from the sky and landed gently on my Dad's cheek. I began to laugh and laugh. "Look Dad, you have poo poo on your face. HAHAHA, my little flying friends played a trick on..." WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! I was silenced.
When I came to, Pa was standing with a shotgun upon his shoulder aiming at the two pigeons in the air BAM! BAM! He shots those two pigeons and all that was left were two fluffs of feathers falling to the ground. I began to shed a tear for I had just lost my two little flying friends.
"You cut that out. Those damn....hiccup...pigeons shat on me. You can't.....hiccup....trust those animals...Hiccup. This is a....hiccup...celebration." Pa pulled from behind his back a bottle of champagne. Pa began to uncork the bottle of champagne when all of the sudden I heard shrieks and a ton of flapping. I looked at my Pa for help but he was surrounded by a horde of pigeons. I heard a loud pop, and ol' Pa fell to the ground.
The pigeons subsided, but Pa just lay there. I went towards him and leaned down. He was bleeding from his nose, but he quickly grabbed my arm. He began to whisper, ""Every boy becomes a man, my boy, but not every man can become a boy like your old man."
I never quite knew what he was talking about that day but I will take those words to the grave.
That was the last I ever talked to my poor Pa. The corkscrew must have hit him square in the nose and caused brain damage, but they don’t believe me. I loved him so much that I decided to show him one last time the extent of my love. I ran to the tool shed and grabbed his old baseball bat and began to pummel him with it hoping that he would feel my love for he had taught me well.
The cops never believed my story. I tried to explain about the attacking pigeons and my love for my dad, but they didn’t buy it. And to this day, I am very, very distrustful of pigeons.
posted by Ivan Drago at 1:54 PM
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