My mind is filled with tons of memories of waking up to rain. Those days being so memorable. Living in back-ass-wards Roswell, rainy days were rare. It was a fuckin desert after all.
Listening to the pitter-pat-tapping of rain falling on the windows soothing my soul.
Once it rained for three straight days in Roswell. The streets flooded and sidewalks got washed away. I remember my mother driving her tiny Toyota Tercel down 2nd street to go to a charity pancake breakfast. The car hitting these huge puddles, spraying water in all directions. Dragging it down. The other cars sprayed water on us and blinded us from the road for a few heart pounding seconds.
Moving away and waking up in the big city. Driving to Toys R Us in the rain to find Star Wars Micro Machine playsets.
Attending Star Wars Celebration in the rain. Rained for three straight days again. Mud everywhere. Wet Leias. Soaked Stormtroopers. And all though water was everywhere, it made that weekend memorable.
Dusty Ayres once said in episode of Robotech, "I like the rain. It clears the dust from the air."
And I find myself saying that every time it rains.
Denver Comic Con
Monday, June 20, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Dreaming of the Perfect Dad
Father's Day 2011. I'm a father. Daughter and I spend the day watching a super-hero movie. But I don't have a father to call, to wish a happy father's day.
I never knew my father. I know his name. I know where he lives. Yet, life never gave me the opportunity to know him, build a model kit with him, go fishing, throw a football back and forth or gather advice from his wisdom.
And I'm okay with that.
To wish differently, I would have been someone else. Perhaps, I would not like movies, comics books, baseball or art. I may have been a grease head or a cocky jock asshole. I may have become a simplistic farmer instead of a dreamer.
But I like how I turned out. So, I don't mind not knowing him.
Growing up in the 1970s, it seemed many always asked, where's your father? I was like fuckin' 7 years old. How'd the hell I know? He wasn't in our tiny apartment that I knew. So, I created a father to respond to all the questions. I said, he was a test pilot for the Air Force. He had a crash in an experimental aircraft. He was hurt really bad but the government rebuilt him: better, faster and stronger than before. And he had to go on missions and be away a lot.
The crazy shit?
People bought it. I basically gave them the premise for the Six Fuckin' Million Dollar Man and they flippin' bought it! They probably just felt sorry for me. Either, I had no daddy or that I couldn't separate fiction from reality. I'm surprised that I didn't end up in a insane asylum with rubber walls!
By the 1980s, the questions stopped. Yet if they hadn't, I would have created another. Perhaps, he would have been a cop who had to change his identity, drive a cool Trans-Am and help those less fortunate. (One man can make a difference.) Or maybe he would have been an ex-Vietnam soldier looking for his MIA brother while flying a suped-up secret government helicopter. Or hell, maybe I would have shrugged my shoulders and walked away...
I never knew my father. I know his name. I know where he lives. Yet, life never gave me the opportunity to know him, build a model kit with him, go fishing, throw a football back and forth or gather advice from his wisdom.
And I'm okay with that.
To wish differently, I would have been someone else. Perhaps, I would not like movies, comics books, baseball or art. I may have been a grease head or a cocky jock asshole. I may have become a simplistic farmer instead of a dreamer.
But I like how I turned out. So, I don't mind not knowing him.
Growing up in the 1970s, it seemed many always asked, where's your father? I was like fuckin' 7 years old. How'd the hell I know? He wasn't in our tiny apartment that I knew. So, I created a father to respond to all the questions. I said, he was a test pilot for the Air Force. He had a crash in an experimental aircraft. He was hurt really bad but the government rebuilt him: better, faster and stronger than before. And he had to go on missions and be away a lot.
The crazy shit?
People bought it. I basically gave them the premise for the Six Fuckin' Million Dollar Man and they flippin' bought it! They probably just felt sorry for me. Either, I had no daddy or that I couldn't separate fiction from reality. I'm surprised that I didn't end up in a insane asylum with rubber walls!
By the 1980s, the questions stopped. Yet if they hadn't, I would have created another. Perhaps, he would have been a cop who had to change his identity, drive a cool Trans-Am and help those less fortunate. (One man can make a difference.) Or maybe he would have been an ex-Vietnam soldier looking for his MIA brother while flying a suped-up secret government helicopter. Or hell, maybe I would have shrugged my shoulders and walked away...
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