The Spawn
Better Than You
- Joined
- Aug 10, 2002
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- 19,505
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Ever since my parents divorced when I was four years old, my mother gained custody of me, and my father was ordered, for lack of a better word, to pick me up every Thursday. When I moved from Jersey City to Linden at the age of eight, every Thursday turned to every other Thursday. And then, my father moved from Jersey City to New York, and every other Thursday turned to every other month.
I know what youre thinking, when he does pick me up to hang out, we train in the art of three dozen forms of martial arts and go to fight clubs.
Wrong.
That was when I was seven years old.
Instead, we go to movies and Burger King.
Why exactly did my father teach me these things as a child you ask?
Perfection.
He wanted me to be like him, perfect.
People say nobody is perfect this is a lie. Not because its impossible for someone to be faultless and flawless, but because no one has met everyone.
At this point, I can and will say that nobody is perfect.
My father is no longer perfect, and I am certainly not perfect. And if my father and I arent perfect, no one is perfect.
I havent met everyone on the face of the earth, true but I know for a fact that many people dont go through what my father and I have gone through.
Its just far too much too handle for an ordinary human.
Ten years ago.
My father turned around slowly and looked over his shoulder.
And that role entitles you to excellence He walked back over to the mantel piece and uncrossed his arms. I heaved a silent sigh and prepared to go at it again as he reached for the stopwatch.
He stopped and made his way for the telephone.
I stopped also there was an electronic buzzing in my ear soon after, it distorted into a telephone ringing. I had heard it before it rang...it seems he had too. I rose to my feet; I could already hear the conversation he was having with my mother on the other end.
She wanted me home, she and I were moving from the house around the corner to a house miles away from here. His sick and twisted destruction of my childhood would come to an end.
His responses were not words or terms, he didnt really seem to care actually.
He hung up the phone and made his way towards me.
After years of audible range augmentation, Im sure you heard the whole conversation
I nodded in agreement.
Ill still visit you son but your mother is right the training must come to an end He crossed his arms, I hope you saw it as beneficial and advantageous not sick and twisted
He threw a punch at me, I grabbed his fist.
Ill take that as a yes
I know what youre thinking, when he does pick me up to hang out, we train in the art of three dozen forms of martial arts and go to fight clubs.
Wrong.
That was when I was seven years old.
Instead, we go to movies and Burger King.
Why exactly did my father teach me these things as a child you ask?
Perfection.
He wanted me to be like him, perfect.
People say nobody is perfect this is a lie. Not because its impossible for someone to be faultless and flawless, but because no one has met everyone.
At this point, I can and will say that nobody is perfect.
My father is no longer perfect, and I am certainly not perfect. And if my father and I arent perfect, no one is perfect.
I havent met everyone on the face of the earth, true but I know for a fact that many people dont go through what my father and I have gone through.
Its just far too much too handle for an ordinary human.
Ten years ago.
My father turned around slowly and looked over his shoulder.
And that role entitles you to excellence He walked back over to the mantel piece and uncrossed his arms. I heaved a silent sigh and prepared to go at it again as he reached for the stopwatch.
He stopped and made his way for the telephone.
I stopped also there was an electronic buzzing in my ear soon after, it distorted into a telephone ringing. I had heard it before it rang...it seems he had too. I rose to my feet; I could already hear the conversation he was having with my mother on the other end.
She wanted me home, she and I were moving from the house around the corner to a house miles away from here. His sick and twisted destruction of my childhood would come to an end.
His responses were not words or terms, he didnt really seem to care actually.
He hung up the phone and made his way towards me.
After years of audible range augmentation, Im sure you heard the whole conversation
I nodded in agreement.
Ill still visit you son but your mother is right the training must come to an end He crossed his arms, I hope you saw it as beneficial and advantageous not sick and twisted
He threw a punch at me, I grabbed his fist.
Ill take that as a yes
