Like Father Part Four

"I wasn't gifted, but blessed."

We're sitting in a sports bar. There's orange light spilling everywhere. Televisions are broadcasting sports games I don't care about. I feel relaxed and quiet inside for the first time in awhile.

Tonight, my Dad's face looks like a tragedy back lit by beauty.

"Do you think you worked hard, or do you think you were talented and that's why you were successful?"

"Something drives you. You understand that."

Do I?

"I was guided towards where I ended up. As sure as God makes little apples, if you work hard, you will make it. But you have to be talented. Some people work hard and just aren't talented. As my Dad would say, some people will never be talented as long as their asshole's point to the ground. Trust me though, you keep working hard, you'll make it."

There is no one in the world as comforting as my father.

...

We walk home.

"Who puts a clap board on the sidewalk? Real estate agents are the worst kind of whores. They might as well stand on the street with their dresses at their ears."

My heart's beating in my jaw. Just tell him.

"So, I'm writing a book about you."

There's a silence.

Fuck, I didn't say it right.

Then he does a pirouette in the street. He takes my hand, leading me in a poor man's waltz, scored by rumbling cars in the vague distance.

"Let me know if you need any information."