Sometimes I would do things like that just to make him mad, though. Like there'd be something I wanted to wear and he wouldn't let me, so I'd wear it because fuck him. Or I'd wear it and he'd be angry and I'd cry the whole time because fuck him. Just...fuck him no matter what. Nothing lasts forever. But it sure would have been nice for him to just love me. Love me without hating me just as much.
As we got older, I think some of the lights in my mom went out. I felt sometimes like...she knew everything about me. That doesn't make sense, but...I felt like...when she looked at me, she could see everything I'd seen, and...when I looked at her, I could see everything she'd seen, too. We just couldn't say any of it out loud.
I remember one Christmas, we were all sitting there around the piano, and my dad said, "Go on and play." So I started playing and Clyde started singing and then everyone did, and I thought, this is just like what heaven must be. The father says to do something fun and nice, and then everyone does, and has a nice time. That was a few weeks before he lost it that one time pretty bad.
People think that when I talk about him, it means that he was some dark enemy of mine and he lurked around looking for excuses to beat me to shit. No, he was okay, most of the time. And when he did, he always seemed really disappointed. Like...I was letting him down somehow, and I think I was. He never wanted...whatever I am as a son. Adam was a good son, and Clyde was even fucking better.
I wish I was more like my mom a lot of the time, but other times, I hope I'm not at all. I used to be scared of becoming my dad, but I don't think I'm much like him, either.