My Father

I remember his scowl the most. It seemed a permanent fixture on his face. His sitting back in his lazy boy with his feet up scowling at the tv,  at my mother or at one of us.  

    

I remember how his feet smelled badly, and how when he knew it bothered you he’d wriggle and rub them together and laugh at your displeasure. 

I remember how Christmas was an excuse for him to drink early, putting vodka in his orange or tomato juice. I remember how he scoffed at every Christmas present my mother bought him saying that she only bought him tools and such so that he’d work around the house.

I remember his little contemptuous laugh whenever he upset one of us, and the smirk that said how much he enjoyed the power he held over you, over me. I remember his rage when I gave him back something of his own medicine, how he dragged me by my hair to throw me out the door to punish me, to get rid of me like he always said he would 

I don’t remember what I said to him, just his reaction.  

And I remember how hard  I fought back. 

A Forest

A forest cares for every individual tree, with the big and healthy trees giving sustenance  to the weak via the mycelium system that connects all organic life.  When all trees are healthy each tree then becomes equally responsible to the forest, and everyone thrives.

In our human society those with more have had very little responsibility towards those beneath them but those with less are expected to keep giving their  allegiance and gratitude to those above them for what they provide, even if what is given isn’t sustaining.

Is it any wonder our systems are  crumbling and everyone is struggling.

To those with more privilage than I

Think of me as having been born with a handicap. I won’t bore you with the violins, but the odds have never been in my favour; I was never expected to win; I was expected to support. 
I can only tell you that I believe I am experiencing the disproportionate effects of what my world expects of me to what I can expect from it; and I’m not sure how much longer I can carry that burden.  
I am the end of my line. 

The prodigy of my parent’s directionalless struggle ends with me. 
I have failed; as was expected. 

Rules

I was told to obey my parents; listen to my teachers; obey my employers; agree with my
betters; follow all the rules regardless of whether or not I had anything to do with their creation, regardless of whether or not they served me. Accepting that others, mostly those who demanded that I obey were served more by my compliance. 

What I had to gain was the food in my belly and the roof over my head; that I didn’t get punished; didn’t get a fail; didn’t lose my job; wasn’t ostracized by my family or community, or judged as someone who thought only of myself…

Oh wait, maybe I haven't been that good at following the rules.

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