Retaining things anally. Without strapping your starfish up with duct tape.
March 9th 2008 09:18
Dad couldn’t find a job as a recently-finished electrician’s apprentice in the country.
So he invented a job for himself. Electrical shop owner. And employed himself.
But not before doing his homework.
Dad was methodical. When it came to work or business-related concerns. Things that didn’t involve food or sex.
According to dad, Nana (his mum) once said to him, “You only think about your stomach and what’s just below it.”
Some people could misconstrue that as meaning, ‘You’ve got a really good appetite. So good, you’ve got two appetites.’ Or, that Nana was incestuous. And obsessed with what was below dad’s stomach. His sausage. She might have been for all I know. I didn’t know her. Whyalla is famous for its sausage sizzles outside Woolies. Run by the Lion’s Club. On Saturday mornings. Whyalla girls love eating sausage in their Ugg boots. And Nana was born and bred in Whyalla.
So when Nana said to dad, You only think about your stomach and what’s just below it, the “nit-picking old bitch” didn’t’ mean, You have a lovely sausage, son.
Dad spoke to me a couple of times.
About the injustices he suffered from his parents. Nana, mainly.
According to dad, Nana was being critical. And, Nana ‘was’ critical. “Nothing but a nit-picking bitch.” Even when dad’s head was not lice-infested. A professional nit-picker. So dad said.
And if you can’t trust your parents? Who can you trust in life?
Apparently (according to dad), Nana liked criticism for its own sake. (But it’s only hearsay at this stage. It wouldn’t hold up in a court of law. It’s just what dad told me. On the odd occasion he did speak to me). Nana was criticising dad. Her own son!
Can you believe that? A parent criticising its own child for no reason? I can.
And according to dad, Nana’s criticisms were “All the bloody time.” Which might explain why dad rarely talked to me. He didn’t want to criticise me? To save me from growing up like him?
I’m my father’s son. All sons are. And their mother’s.
Maybe dad did love me, after all. But he just couldn’t say it. Because of Nana. And because he was a man. And it was an emotional issue. To speak about. The type of issue you don’t speak about if you’re a man?
“I’m sorry, son, but I can’t tell you I love you because … It would all be too emotional. And I’m a man. And real men don’t … “ Have feelings? What’s the definition of a real man? Even Jesus cried when Lazarus died. And Jesus was a real man. A carpenter. A tradie.
Poor old dad. I would have told him I loved him. If he’d taught me how to go about it.
Maybe, in dad’s mind he went, I don’t want my son growing up like me, so I wont criticise him. The best way of not criticising him is not saying anything to him while he grows up. I’ll avoid him. Even better, I’ll pretend he doesn’t exist.
Lots of people are like that. Not like dad. Like Nana. I’ve gone back to talking about Nana. That’s how you write. How you speak. All over the place … like madwoman’s custard. (People can follow the ‘thread’ of the convo. Whether a person is speaking or writing. Other people are smarter than you think).
Lots of people are critical. Like Nana. It usually means they’re not happy with themselves. So, they criticise others. Usually for their own faults. The ones they can’t correct in themselves. And feel better afterwards. A lot of these people end up writing self-help books. For others. They don’t have time to read their own self-help books. They’re too busy helping others to help them make money by buying their self-help books.
“Remove the beam from your own eye before you try to remove the mote from someone else’s.” That’s historical proof Jesus was a carpenter. It’s sage advice about judging others using a carpentry analogy.
Which is consistent with St Luke’s Gospel. Which Mary dictated to him. Which is why they call it Mary’s Gospel. Mary told these things to St Luke after her Son, Jesus, died. On the Cross. While St Luke was painting a picture of her.
“Judge not and you shall not be judged.” Jesus also said that. How the hell do you learn a living as a judge if you take that Scriptural reference literally?
Maybe that’s why judges disregard God’s laws?
There’s some really wacko religions out there. They all put their own interpretations on the Bible. Instead of doing what Judges do. Ignore it completely. And make shitloads of money, and indulge in young boys’ bums. Because God doesn’t approve of homosexuality.
If I had become an excellent judge, and life had panned out as I mentioned earlier, after I’d shot everyone in the courtroom, I’d have been arraigned and brought back to the same courtroom for trial. But not in my usual seat as Judge. I would have asked for a cushion. “I object!” To this non-cushy seat?
My entire defence would have been. “Judge not and you shall not be judged.” I’d have been found not guilty. By my former peers. How could they have argued with a defence like that? As judges? Even though, as judges, they’ve never adhered to it? Only made others adhere to it? Bloody hypocrites. The lot of them.
Maybe, they would have taken what I said so seriously, they wouldn’t have made a judgement. Just left. After saying something like, “He’s right. “ And telling the rest of the courtroom, “Work it out yourselves.”
I might have set a precedent. One like, Let’s dispense with the law altogether. It’s too complex. And just have total anarchy?
If that had happened, I’d have applied for a retrospective trial. And say I wanted to be judged by a society that not only didn’t judge others, but thought nothing was morally or civilly wrong. A society that had dispensed with judges and the law altogether. (There goes my trial. There’d be no court rooms. I’d be in an anarchy jail).
Someone would let me out. They’d say, “Nothing is right. Nothing is wrong. I’m not letting you out because I think it’s wrong or right. I’m just doing it because there’s no law to stop me doing what I want to do. “
A lot of people think like that. Illogically and irrationally. Most people are stuffed in the head. At least I can rationally and logically justify why I killed so many people.
Although, if anarchy ruled, there wouldn’t be any jails. Where the hell would they lock me up? In my own head again? (I’d rather go back and live with mum and dad if that’s going to happen. My parents were better jailors than people paid to jail people. They locked me up in my own head for seventeen years, and didn’t even need a key to throw away).
Nana was a Whyalla girl.
You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. But, what are you supposed to say about dead people who spoke ill of the living while they were alive? Unless, of course, you want to be a priest who specialises in eulogies. “She was a good Christian woman who never came to this church once in her life. She loved cats.”
If Nana hadn’t been such an unhappy, critical person, she might have seen the good qualities dad possessed. Like being methodical. And have encouraged him. Even supported him. Mentioned his good points once or twice during his life while she was alive. She could have said, “Leon. You’re very methodical. That’s a great quality to possess. I’m proud of you. You’re not just a finisher. You’re a starter. And a preparer. You prepare well. Methodically.” Repeating it would have been a double positive affirmation. Who knows? (Only God, and He’s not telling us?), dad might have even talked to me more than twice in my life. If Nana had been a bit more on the ball, she could have added, “You even do the middle bits good. You’re a great preparer, starter, continuer and finisher, Leon. They’re admirable qualities.”
But Nana was too busy picking nits.
I would have added, packer upperer. “Dad, you’re the best packer-upperer.”
After dad finished doing something, he packed up just as methodically as he prepared.
Dad was basically anally-retentive. Nana was probably right to criticise him.
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