When I turned 10, two things happened that changed my life. The first was Paul getting an Atari 2600. The second was seeing Star Wars for the first time, alone with Paul, because my Dad didn’t want to see it. He was a pacifist, and it had “war” in the title. From that point on, I was as nerd as nerd could be.
“So, I’ve got all this stuff I just don’t know what to do with.” He pauses for breath. He has congestive heart failure and a dozen other issues that make it very hard for him to focus for more than a few minutes. It hurts to see him struggling. I well up again. “I have some great horns. I have one of your grandfather’s horns, he bought it when he was a kid. It’s so good. I hate to sell it.”
“I’d love to take it, Dad. I’m sure Peter will want it as he grows up. He seems drawn to music.”
We’ve been making these exchanges for the past two years. He shows up with something “he’d hate to sell” and I dutifully put it in the basement. He walks away feeling like a patriarch, instead of the odd, strange man he’s become.
“I remember you weren’t really much into music growing up,” he forgets.
I was desperate for music.
Aah, heck. You don’t need a bunch of boilerplate from me telling you why it’s a special piece of writing. Just go check it out.
Yes, Dad. [Gamers With Jobs]