Ok. I'm getting the whole story wrong. I did take charge of the situation. I was the man of the house at the age of 5. Without my father there, I sat in his chair at the table. Actually, I stood up on that chair unzipped my fly and I placed my penis on the table like the judge's mallot "Order in the Court! Order in the Court!" Do you think I'm inventing? This is not fiction my friend. The slice of pizza was a metaphor. But ask my mother about the whipping out of my penis at the dinner table not long after my father died. Was it a Judge's mallot? Or was it a symbolic gesture, a prediction of the years to come? an offering for sacrifice upon the altar of our lives where I remember seeing my father get up from the table, run to the bathroom and then hear him vomit horrendously. Do I hear his vomitting when I am sick and bent over the toilet? Thank god I don't have those experiences regularly. Did I tell you about one of the only times I've had a feaver in my life... Maybe they should have chopped the damn thing off and dressed me up like Shirley Temple. Maybe then they would have accepted me in their tiny kindom... In their dolls house. Sheri didn't like dolls. She wanted to be like her father. She didn't like that my father had a real son... Sheri cut the grass with the ride on lawnmower. My mother cut that same grass with that same mower. However, when I said that I wanted to mow the lawn, my mother yelled, "For the life of me! You're going to chop off your foot!" Am I inventing this MOM? Is this what you want to hear James? Is this personal enough?
Well I can bleed for you if you want. I can bring you into my deepest most painful realms, not of the mind, not of the Valentines Hearts in all of our mythological chests, but below the skin, where all the worst things are felt and hidden. Do you want that? But can I go there? You don't need to feel my suffering in Mexico. We all seek the repetition of the suffering we knew in childhood, if we truly knew it, in order to improve upon the past, to master the situation, even if subconsciously. If you didn't suffer in childhood, chances are you won't truly suffer as an adult. THANK GOD FOR YOU! My relationship with the racist and invidioso Mexicans is only a reproduction of my elementary school experiences. And here I have come out on top. The suffering I haven't repeated is that which I suffered with my family, which is not played out by Margarita. Yes, there was a time... But I'm not that timid and shy child I had been growing up with my sisters and my mother in Branchburg, with my neighbors with my elementary through high school peers. However, they continue being the same people as adults. Margarita said to me a month or so ago and she has apologized since, not because she was wrong, but because she didn't want to hurt me I hate to say this, but truthfully I am sure that your mother is so relieved that you do not return to the U.S. It's much easier for her to have you out of reach, visiting for 4 or 5 days every 1.8 years. I'm sure all of them feel that way. Did I smack her in the face for saying that? No. I felt a slight sinking of the facial muscles around my mouth and I pondered her all too perceptive statement.
I'm sorry. But I've gotta go. I can't continue on with this for now. I don't like the coldness I feel seeping below my skin.