Thus, considering the intestinal goodness and general wanna sleep moment; I am doing a fresh for DaDairy Reprint�with permission from myself and the recipient.

The following was an email response to a diaryland acquaintance.

***snip***

Thanks for the being a good dad thing. To some extent there is no choice as I am (sadly) trying to be both dad and mom (she had a stroke, it is entry three or four in my diary) to a wonderful little guy. But, in-toto, the gift of being a dad is something I wouldn't trade for anything. Ever. The reality of it is that, all you can do is hope to be more than fifty percent better than your parents were--and I do achieve that in spades.

He is an easy little guy to get along with (for the nonce.) And although that'll change with testosterone poisoning, it'll all work out well. If I survived my parents, anyone can do it.

Today (at a distance) I have a solid relationship with the two of them (they are at disparate ends of the Atlantic Seaboard.

Your pop sounds very much like mine was--and that isn't an easy road. It took me quite a while to accept him for who he is... He also was a caustic, sarcastic, never-satisfied-with-me, Grand Ol' Party member. I hated to not tell the truth about anything when I was young--and decided to announce to my dad at age 13 that I was a smoker (both my parents smoked.) His response? "At thirteen you pick up cigarettes, by 15 you'll be smoking pot, then on to heroin by age seventeen, and from there it's straight into communism for you." He was wrong on over half of the list. Grin.

It still makes me laugh--no matter how crazed/mad he was at the time.

At about your age, I just stopped bothering to argue with him--which as the better part of valor was the best thing I could have done. It allowed us to have some form of relationship. I did swallow my tongue regularly, but I also had some semblance of familial feel. As this progressed, I just kind of forgave him for who he was--and whether the distance or the overall (his/mine?) mellowing that age brings, he and I get along well today. There is much unsaid, but we have managed to say and discuss things I couldn't have imagined actually achieving at age 17.

So, whether useful or useless, this was something I thought I ought to bring to your attention.

An aside? One of the most important peeps in my life (while growing up) was my grandmother's sister; my great-aunt Elizabeth. Lizzy lived down on the Cape in Wellfleet, Mass. She taught me my love of fun. She taught me a fair bit of compassion. She taught me the competitive streak that has caused me to be a gamer (in nearly all ways) for all of my adult life--and I even let my hobby become my vocation. Today, I would not be a kite-flying, toy-loving, child-like (avoiding the childish,) videogame business human without her influence.

My Aunt Elizabeth had bone marrow cancer at age 13. She lost both legs (one at the knee and the other at the thigh.) For someone who never completed school, she accomplished the world. By the time she died, she had honorary degrees from everywhere, was a somewhat-crazed alcoholic bitch (with a buried proverbial heart of gold,) had sculpted for Disney Studios, was an Animator for United Artists, taught art at Cambridge, owned a large art gallery in NYC and Wellfleet, Mass. Saw all of Europe on a motor scooter with her old English sheepdog (Oliver) on the back in a trailer. I once met her at Logan Airport (she had literally had a holiday stealing cop car license plates in Switzerland, and in the process had done a ton of swimming in the hotel pool while in her cups.) Thus, she didn't remove the wooden legs... The straps rotted. As she was getting out the doorway at the top of the porta-stairs at Logan, one of them fell off, and tumbled down the stairs with a clump, bang, clump, clang. I�ll never lose the following mental picture: She was standing at the top with a wild look in her eyes laughing her ass off and waving her canes while yelling "Termites!" at the top of her lungs.

She was also (as I mentioned) my maternal grandmother's sister. My grandmother used to say, "My, how wonderful Lizzy's housekeeper Sally is... She does so much for her. And she has been there for decades. She was ever so lucky to find such good help."

You see Liz was a lesbian. She had told her sister--but my grandmother clearly blanked it out and erased the whole prospect from her memory banks. My aunt Elizabeth was the woman who saved her from being regularly locked in a basement by her then husband (my mom's pop,) helped her escape, fought mightily to get her to divorce the bastard, and on. But she was an Out member of the party of Lesbos from the late 1930�s on. I only had a few years with her, but she taught me so very much. And besides, no one could race dune-buggies like this old gal with two wooden legs, no one could ignite fireworks at more inopportune times, no one could drive in such crazy/sad/drunk/barb'd up pain at speeds like she did with her Porsche Turbo (with a pair of wooden blocks on the pedals so she could reach with her wooden legs...) and on. She taught me verve, gave me a sense of joy I never would have seen, and more than anything else, gave my son the wonderful great Aunt/Uncle Sally he has today--as her lifemate still lives on the Cape.

Sally's sons are born again and they both live in Maine. [She tried to do the hetero thing, and had a pair before bailing.] They don't let her see their children. You see, she could be a bad influence. [This still causes me to both laugh and feel awful for her. The laughter because she is a wonderful elderly dame, the sadness because she deserves better�] Thus my son was deeded to her as an honorary grandchild. She thinks he does no wrong. Sally keeps a picture of daKiddo on her nightstand. She is fit and travels like a wonder every winter--at near 90. This year she is in Turkey. I love my (she laughs when I say this...and has for years...) Uncle Sally very much.

You are in a time that will continue to be difficult for anyone who isn't deep in the average category--but nothing like those two wonderful old dames went through. Folks like that broke trail...and thank WhoTheFuckEver that they did.

***snip***

--DaSauceOfDaStool