Posted in Comfortable, dad, Deformed Toes, Family, Feet, Freedom, Life, Pain, Passive Aggressive, Sad, Secrets, Sneakers, Stupidity, Uptight, Wingtips, tagged Comfortable, dad, Deformed Toes, Painful, Passive Aggressive, Pinched, Sad, Shoes, Sneakers, Subversive, Uncomfortable Life, Uptight, Wingtips on April 7, 2009|
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My father has worn wingtips his entire life, or at least as long as I have known him. He had wingtips he would wear to the office, and shiny, flashy wingtips he would wear for a night out. He would wear a pair of old battered wingtips to putter around in the yard or to take a walk or a bike ride. He always wore dress slacks or work slacks as well, with the constant button down collared shirt. No shorts, jeans, or sweatshirts for my dad. I’m not sure why he was so opposed to wearing casual, comfortable clothes however I can speculate that maybe his style of dress was simply a reflection of how he felt inside, and how he viewed the outside world around him.
Recently, my dad has begun wearing sneakers, as they are required during his physical therapy. His therapists had me buy a size larger than what he had requested because, come to find out, he had been wearing the wrong size his entire adult life. The size I got him was perfect and for the first time in his life, my dad was wearing comfortable shoes in the correct fit. Even now, weeks later, he seems always amazed at how comfortable they are and how good his feet feel.
Last night at the hospital, I had an opportunity to see my dad’s bare feet as they stuck out from beneath his covers when the nurse asked him to wiggle his toes. His feet are deformed and knotty looking from years and years of stuffing his feet into too small a shoe size. They look painfully awful and I can’t help but think how sad it is, that he’s lived his whole life this way.
In fact, his feet are kind of an analogy for how he’s lived his whole life. Uncomfortable with himself, I think, and with others around him, he used formality as a type of wall to close himself off from the world. He would rather live pinched and uncomfortable than open himself up to things he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand. Maybe he feels that by doing without any luxuries or comfort, and suffering silently on a daily basis, that that somehow makes him better than everyone else, stronger, more resilient.
We all end up at the same place eventually. Time has a way of creeping up on us. It’s difficult for me to understand my dad and his quirks and eccentricities, and I have long given up trying to “help” him see another side of things. Now, I smile and make small talk, and bite back the remarks that might argue or upset. We have never had a bond or a connection, we have never had an in-depth conversation, and perhaps it for this very reason. It pleases me though now to know that at the very least I was able to give my dad a comfortable pair of shoes.
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Posted in Cock, Conformity, Dick, exhibitionist, Family, Freedom, Hellmouth, Life, Nostalgia, Penis, Perversion, Random, Rebellion, Secrets, Summer, Travel, Voyeur on December 11, 2007|
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I remember I was about thirteen or so, and on my way to NY to spend July with my dad and “Miss Piggy,” my stepmother. I was miserable, of course, with the prospect of spending 31 whole days with them, not to mention all that time away from my friends & the beach. However, I was resigned to the unavoidable, and so I filled the nine hour trip by staring out the window as I listened to my Sony Walkman, finding solace in the musical renderings of Winger, Def Leppard, and Ratt.
The backseat was my refuge and I fantasized as I watched the scenery fly by, daydreaming mostly about horses and boys and escaping to the freedom that lay just beyond the window glass. While my father navigated the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I flew just out of reach, my long tangled hair whipping my face as I raced on a stallion as dark as night, hooves barely touching the red clay ground.
As my eyes traveled over the wooded hills and cliffs that bordered the expressway, my thoughts lost in a different world entirely, I was slammed back into the present quite rudely by the sight of a teenaged boy about my age, high on a hillside, pants around his ankles, equipment swinging in the breeze.
He seemed to be exhibiting himself to the passing cars on the turnpike, but he was so high up, no one would have even noticed him unless they were staring out the window as I had been doing. He looked happy, as evidenced by the huge smile on his face, and he waved at us as we passed by, our eyes meeting for the merest fraction of a second. I was so stunned at the strangeness of such a sight, I couldn’t even began to tell my parents in the front seat what I had just witnessed. They’d have never believed me.
And I realized oddly enough, I didn’t want to tell them. It was almost like I shared a secret with this boy. Some weird kinship wrought from longing and the purest essence of freedom. Although I didn’t really understand what this strange kid was up to, I felt instinctively somehow that it went beyond an inclination for perversion, that this rebellious act was actually a grasping for some deeper truth or meaning in life. A one person riot in the face of conformity, he was expressing not only his desire for freedom, but freedom as he felt it to be.
But then again, maybe he was just some whack job exposing himself. Who knows.
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I have absolutely nothing to blog about tonight, so I’ll leave you with my favorite web comic from xkcd. Sweet genius.
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