Mrs. Robinson

I don’t have a way with words anymore. I think at one point I did. I could convey what I wanted and had a vocabulary that extended that of a 10 year old, which I now feel consumed in. I could accurately place words in order to say what I needed to say and express what needed expressed. Now, I’m lucky if I even can have the words to keep up a normal conversation. So in that sense I feel deflated. As if all my words have been let out into the air and I’m just me, laying in a pool of stretched out existence. Or something like that.

I got lost in my thoughts today. It got to the extent where it enclosed my entire mind process and took away my ability to be here in the moment. Every thought was dedicated to the past and my existence. Something drew me to the picture of my father. Let me clarify, the only picture of my father. A picture of him biking down my childhood street, likely around the age of 16 surrounded by green grass and clear blue skies. Let’s note this first, the fact that I referred to him as my father. I’ve noticed that ever since he died I can actually associate him with that. My father. It’s a weird concept and has such a weird taste coming out of my mouth, but that is in fact what he is. My father, the other half of my DNA. Before he died you would never hear those words come out of my mouth. To everyone that knew me his existence was not needed. I was merly here to spite him and nothing to do with him. If referenced in conversation he would be accurately named my ‘sperm donor’. But it’s all different now. I can say he was my father and I can associate myself with him and in his life. But back to the picture. I was just drawn into it for no particular reason. It made me wonder what was going on in his life at the time. He seems so carefree and at ease, so it must be before I was born right? Or before I was conceived and put a damper on his life. I don’t know this person in the picture. I didn’t know him then. If I didn’t know any better I could go off assuming that he is a total stranger. There is nothing there that I recognize. I have absolutely zero memories associated with this person. Nothing that connects me to him and yet at that moment all I wanted was one single thing that I could think of that made him anything more then a stranger. I don’t know that face, that face that is supposed to look exactly like mine. Where I get my features from. But I don’t have a single thread of connection. I can’t say with conviction that I look like my dad because I don’t know and will never know. I can’t say I get my laugh from him or any aspect of my personality. I can’t say anything and at a moment when more then anything that’s what I wanted.

On a different level of this it’s absolutely mind blowing how the saying you-date-your-father works so well. Probably in more eloquently put words but the truth is there. I had no clue what my father was like. He could have been anything. A construction worker. A lawyer. Working at subway, who knows. But he biked. All the time. It was ‘his thing’. And I have this weird deep rooted desire to be with bikers. I see someone on a fixed gear or a bmx and I’m automatically drawn to them. It’s like I’m tuned in to notice them or want something to do with them. Look at my history and who I go for and it’s full of guys like that. It’s just so crazy how something I know nothing about can make such a major impact on my life.