[Seahawk]

Dude.

Originally Posted by Crowbob

Exactly correct and thank you for it, Norm.

I remember standing, one foot on the ground, bearing the load, the other waiting to slide my self into a battered and beat up pick up truck, peering through the filthy window of the open door, in tattered clothes one Sunday afternoon as my son, pleading in all of his glorious and glittering innocence enveloped by footed pajamas, to stay with him a little while longer. All the while, with his clean and sparkling image further obscured by the grey and leaden weight of my tears of guilt and rage, I said:

I can't.

That also passed.

Originally Posted by Crowbob

I remember one fine spring morning, my beloved daughter at age seven, happily coloring in the book on her lap in the pews of a county courthouse courtroom, as the Friend of said Court addressed the assembled county commissioners. Holding my twelve-inch, approximately ten pound file (I measured but did not weigh it) the man declared that I am a whiner and had caused his office to "waste" an inordinate amount of record-setting time and resources maintaining the parental relationship I had with my children.

I remember my beloved and precocious daughter then looked up to me and winked.

This will not pass.

Originally Posted by Crowbob

Lying awake one winter night in that previous life, I found myself visualizing my essence and gave it a purpose. That visualization resembled the living substance of that blob in the iconic sci-if horror movie of the same name.

I forced that amorphous and omeaboid substance to traverse the hundred or so miles of void separating my son and me. Eventually, with effort, patience and determination, the blob enveloped my son, encasing him in an ephemeral gel of love.

A little time had passed when my son tried to describe to me a dream he had recently had. He said it felt like he was floating, submerged and in over his head, in strawberry Jell-O with me, and laughing...

Originally Posted by Crowbob

At some point during those days of debauchery and hedonistic excess, I witnessed a child, a boy on a bicycle, being struck by a slow-moving car.

At my immediate arrival, his lower leg being twisted in a grotesque and unnatural shape, prevented him, against all his might combined with his profound horror, from standing.

Lie there, boy! I told him as I grasped him an embrace, 'It will pass'.