I've been thinking about a story French told me concerning Mean Dean. Often, as I drive to work, my thoughts fall back into it.
Mean Dean was and is a tough bastard. We used to say he had a chip on each shoulder. We called him mean, mainly because it rhymed, but really he was more angry then mean. Why he was so angry is complex, but one episode helps in a way.
Dean's paternal grandma died when he was 30. He only ever talked to her a few times, but she had this odd habit of sending him a wallet with a twenty dollar bill in it every year on his birthday. Dean always had pretty fancy leather wallets, and so did we. He often kept the twenty and tossed the wallet. I still have one of his castoffs.
When she died he felt obliged to go to her funeral. Even his mom went to pay her respects. On the stairs of the church his mom paused in front of a man with tear stained checks. Dean's mom said: "Dean meet your father." Dean just shook his hand and said, "sorry for your loss."
His father said: "I'm sorry for yours." There was a long pause and he added, awkwardly: "You've grown...we should talk later."
Dean and his mom sat alone at the back of the church during the service. Then Dean darted out the back door.
This was the first time he'd ever met his father.
2 comments:
"Be kinder than necessary,for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
That's rough.
Not to diminish his pain, but I can relate in a way. When I was in my 30s I found out I had a half-sister who had been adopted out as a baby. Everyone around me, it seems, knew of this person, but no one had ever bothered to tell me.
I guess his grandmother was trying to assuage her own guilt.
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