Daughter visited last week. Lives in Vancouver now, seems to feel obligated to visit the old man once in a while, even tho we don’t have much to talk about. O I love her and worry about her, but I just don’t enjoy her company, All that brassy blonde hair, that too red-and-white, not quite real smile, where did my little girl go. As I see it she got brainwashed in university, totally bought into modern ways, always worrying about the corporations spoiling the planet, while the stuff she puts in her hair and on her face must generate enough toxins to poison a small lake or a large swamp. No kids, husband gone, complains about his booze etc, but I wonder how much her being so right and everybody who disagrees with her automatically so wrong had to do with it.
They say fish and company go bad in three days, by day 5 we have run out of things to say so I decide we need some help. So on her last day, I invited big Joe to come over for a game of cards and supper with us. I don’t have any lady friends I could or would want to bring into the picture.
Big mistake, Joe doesn’t like women much, I think he is afraid of them, says he tried being married once, didn’t like it. After four games of crib and an hour or two of barbs about the patriarchy and so on, he just kind of glazed over, I could see a storm brewing, and hurried to get another beer in front of him and supper closer to the front of the stove.
So Joe says to her, “how do you think little old Europe managed to totally dominate the entire globe?” this with a tight little non-smile. “Why, by exploiting the poor people all over the world,” she says brightly, “I think it’s your deal”. But Joe persisted, “How do you think Europe got to be the exploiter, not the exploitee?”
That didn’t get an answer, so he went on “Who is the most useless member of society, especially a society where we don’t have to fight cave bears for space, and tigers for food? “ “Well, that’s easy,”, she says, “ young men”. ‘Not exactly”, says Joe, his face now reminding me of a thundercloud, like when he tore a strip off that pipsqueak boss who tried to tell him how to run his wood harvester that time. “Its young unmarried men.”
Now he is in full rant mode. “The way to turn that violent layabout criminal into societies most productive citizen is to get him married and with kids, but he has to be sure they are his kids, almost all male child abuse is when the father is not sure the kid is his. He will do everything he can for that family, work all the overtime, take all the promotions offered. So how do we get him married off? We create a shortage of what he wants most, which is female company. So our Christian morality, the emphasis on family above all was our secret weapon. It’s not an accident that during Victorian times strict moral code, each generation was better off than the previous one. And things changed once we lost that strict moral code, went into free love, no more marriage nor responsibility for kids, government instead of family. All in the name of proving that women are just the same as men, except in the shape of some of the plumbing. Progressive people have never understood the law of unexpected consequences, and the consequence of this change is that now each generation is worse off than the previous one. Mostly because of the hordes of unattached males not contributing much. And of course the big loser is the kids. O, we have a lot to answer for.”
Joes face turned from thundercloud to embarrassment as he realized he had totally spoiled the party, and he abruptly got up and left. O well, I never was much for three-handed crib anyway, and I was so busy trying to signal Joe to cool it that I let the stew burn so it was just as well. Daughter and I had fried eggs and toast for supper, and played a few more games of crib while pretending that Joe had not even been there. I will have to let him know it’s ok, we all lose it once in a while. Take her to the bus tomorrow.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s