Just three letters
[Cross posted to Theatrical Muse: "If you could trade lives with one person for a day, who would it be, and what would you do?"]
For all his talk about legacy, dad would rather live his life than document it.
"Just write it, dad. Or dictate it. For us." I used to bring up his unwritten memoirs on birthdays and family holidays. I don't, anymore. He'd crack a joke, make like he's going to tickle me. Now it just disturbs him. Reminds him of mortality. He's most definitely not a fool. He gets it that I want it as much for my memories as the world at large. It doesn't even have to be as daunting as his life's history. "Dad - a book of quotes. Your thoughts on random topics. You could write a book on legal strategy - or military strategy."
Remember that movie 'Freaky Friday'? Jamie Lee Curtis changed places with her daughter? I'd like to wake up in dad's bed. *snicker*
I'd dress in his best suit, yellow tie, take charge of the staff meeting, fire Paul, maybe a few others, get Alan to make coffee for all the administrative assistants, bring Brad back to take Paul's place and then lock my door, pour myself a shot of that rare Ruskie Standart and start at the beginning.
"I was born in the wrong century, on a pirate ship..." I'd dictate my way through my misspent youth, helping the old man horde sugar during World War II for the bootleg trade - and how it was all ruined by a flooded basement. I'd go deep into the mystique of the Marines in Viet Nam. I'd dictate the greatest love story ever - and how she left me. I'd finally put to paper the mystery of that day I impersonated the president and made it into Camp David. I'd recollect the fight to launch and build the firm, my first case defending a cattle rustler in Boston. I'd finally reveal the name of the mobster who never fixed the outcome of any cases. Honest. Every story. Every person. Every detail.
It's a nice dream.
I'm afraid of losing his beautiful mind. I simply want to save... him.
I've got his signature down. Just three letters different from mine. Maybe I should ghost write it. Yeah. Perhaps I will. I tap out something I heard him say in staff meeting: "When the pilgrims landed, the first thing they did was eat a few Indians. Ban read meat! That cannot pass constitutional mustard." I click 'save' and name the file 'I can mop the floor with you.doc'. What do you know? I'm a ghost writer.
For all his talk about legacy, dad would rather live his life than document it.
"Just write it, dad. Or dictate it. For us." I used to bring up his unwritten memoirs on birthdays and family holidays. I don't, anymore. He'd crack a joke, make like he's going to tickle me. Now it just disturbs him. Reminds him of mortality. He's most definitely not a fool. He gets it that I want it as much for my memories as the world at large. It doesn't even have to be as daunting as his life's history. "Dad - a book of quotes. Your thoughts on random topics. You could write a book on legal strategy - or military strategy."
Remember that movie 'Freaky Friday'? Jamie Lee Curtis changed places with her daughter? I'd like to wake up in dad's bed. *snicker*
I'd dress in his best suit, yellow tie, take charge of the staff meeting, fire Paul, maybe a few others, get Alan to make coffee for all the administrative assistants, bring Brad back to take Paul's place and then lock my door, pour myself a shot of that rare Ruskie Standart and start at the beginning.
"I was born in the wrong century, on a pirate ship..." I'd dictate my way through my misspent youth, helping the old man horde sugar during World War II for the bootleg trade - and how it was all ruined by a flooded basement. I'd go deep into the mystique of the Marines in Viet Nam. I'd dictate the greatest love story ever - and how she left me. I'd finally put to paper the mystery of that day I impersonated the president and made it into Camp David. I'd recollect the fight to launch and build the firm, my first case defending a cattle rustler in Boston. I'd finally reveal the name of the mobster who never fixed the outcome of any cases. Honest. Every story. Every person. Every detail.
It's a nice dream.
I'm afraid of losing his beautiful mind. I simply want to save... him.
I've got his signature down. Just three letters different from mine. Maybe I should ghost write it. Yeah. Perhaps I will. I tap out something I heard him say in staff meeting: "When the pilgrims landed, the first thing they did was eat a few Indians. Ban read meat! That cannot pass constitutional mustard." I click 'save' and name the file 'I can mop the floor with you.doc'. What do you know? I'm a ghost writer.