Two days ago, I managed to talk my father into reading Rooster the rooster. A short story previously published in its designated place here at the Box, and submitted to a Creative Writing professor. Rooster the rooster was read by many people. I read it aloud to my sister when I finished it, we were in the car heading home and I was thrilled that the tale was finished. So thrilled was I, that I could not wait to get home for her to know about it. So I started reading.
I did not use the voice I imagined I would use if I read the story. The narrative voice I used was quite different, and very unexpected. It was pretty casual though, I thought such a step would rob the story of its satire, but it didn’t.
So my father agreed to read the two papers I put in his lap as he watched TV. He asked what the papers were about, and I said “Oh, just read!”. Much to my content, he complied.
I sat on a couch close at hand, and I waited for the comments. My father, you see, has his own architecture of thought. He doesn’t always quite get the jest of what I say or write, and that makes the process all the more pleasant. I sometimes have his temper and when he fails to understand what I mean by something, I normally use this temper if my conduct is not checked.
Not to speak too long of details that contribute nothing to this entry’s core, I will proceed with the logical sequence of events. So there I was, sitting on a couch looking at my father as he put on his glasses and started reading the passages I composed.
Now he smiled, then he laughed. He threw a stylistic remark my way but I talked it away, explaining the reason behind the deliberate glitch. “But that belongs here, because…It’s all deliberate, you know what I’m saying” -”Ahhh. So you meant to say such and such eh? That’s smart” - “Why of course!”.
So went our brief conversation. The way my father reacted to the piece was amazing. It made me see, first hand, what a reader with a completely different line of thought would juice out of it. He smiled, and that was proof enough for me to feel that he was able to relate to it. That is my writer’s ecstasy.
I like your way putting your readers at the scene… ;)
Wake me up,
When the war
is over.
…………..
I sleep to dream
Of a costly peace
In realty peace
is but a dream.
Wake me up before
death silences guns
peace! mans peace is
nothing but to stop a gun
it is not the divine peace
that forbade guns destiny
to give man a plow
and seasons
for love and pray ,
how long the sleep can be
short , awoken by the scent
of earth and rain ,I am up
awaken by Gods wish ,
thus realty and dream
are same ,peace in a dream
as dear as peace in realty
for procreation and continuity, peace is born at last
for you and I to dream and wake to
the four seasons
of life and nature
Tololy - This is amazing. You must have read my mind. I was thinking a couple of days ago that - possibly out of my own fault of not reading through all your past posts - I had never really found out anything about your father. I was interested in learning more about the father figure that would turn out such a thinker, such a creative mind! I know that for me, my father has had an enormous impact on whatever it is I ‘produce’ in life - be it writing projects, solutions to math problems, even the way I think. Of course so did my mother, but the masculine influence of the father figure impacts different parts of who I’ve turned out to be, I think. So, for no reason whatsoever I found myself wondering about yours, and wondering if you’d ever mentioned him on your blog. Then today, I find this!
It sounds like me, giving my father something to read, waiting to see a flicker of recognition, of relating to my creativity in his eyes, his face.
Thank you!
Black Cats, I am glad you do.
Anonymous person, that was very touching. Did you compose that? If yes, then kindly supply a name, should that not bother you.
Lulu, I am psychic. It is true, very few people know this about me but I have supernatural powers at my disposal. Do not take this seriously.
As a matter of fact I had wanted to dedicate an entry to my father, and one to my mother, but suddenly this sounded too cheesy for my taste. You are most welcome though, feel free to explore the Box. I am certain you could find something thrown here and there, it is a puzzle, really.