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EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK:
MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT
- One Primate's Search For Intelligent Life
Any Port In A Storm
Jitterbug!
I remember a weekend that my dad had actually indulged in his
visitation rights; he decided that we would come over to his
condo at Handover Country Club for a shindig that he had been
planning for months and he was going to be
the designated Chef. My father fancied himself quite the galloping gourmet’.
Actually, he was a very good cook, not in the same league with
my mother, but a much better cook than most fathers.
On most occassions when we were with our father, whether it was at
his house or if he took us to a fancy restaurant, he liked to
hob-knob with what he called the “Jet Set”, you know, very
wealthy people. Back in those days, my dad made a lot of money
and since my Godfather, his best friend had become a
multi-millionaire, my dad liked to hang with the same crowd that
my Godfather regularly hung with.
My dad like to surround himself with big shot bankers,
lawyers, artists, real estate developers, celebrities, and
professional sports stars. He had more than a few pictures
situated of him throughout his condo posing with celebrities, such as Frank Sinatra, (The Patron Saint
of all Italians that grow up poor and make it big),
Ricardo Montalbon, Big Gino Marcetti -- the former professional
football star, and so forth. My dad was, and still is a very
charismatic man who loves to be both the gracious host and the
center of attention.
I
think my dad
was a bit of a closet paparazzi
He was always bragging about how all of these ‘friends’ of his
made lots of money. Each of his friends were dressed expensively
and sported razor cut hairstyles and other high-priced grooming
accessories.
It during this event that my dad decided to give me some father
to son mentoring he said, “The two most important things in this
world are money and pussy!”
I was startled that my dad would be this raw with me, since I
was only fourteen, and it kind of made me feel uncomfortable, a
bit creepy. Yet, to be honest, on another level, I felt more
than a little thrilled that my dad had taken the time to talk to
me “Man to Man” about the nuts and bolts and other intricacies
of the world of men.
So there it was... two of them most important things in my
father's life was money and pussy. I could not help but wonder
where on the list of important things that family fell on... if
at all.
During these gala events, my dad use to introduce my siblings
and I to each of his friends. He would give us a bit of their
resume’ and then brag for them about how well their sons or
daughters were doing in sports, school, or how fantastic an
income they made at any number of prestigious job.
Many of his elite friends sent their kids to Harvard, Stanford,
Yale, Wharton School of Business, Haverford, and various other
elite schools. His friends use to laugh and brag that their
children’s tuition was costing them a pretty penny.
Some of his friends had bragged that they had brought one or
more of their kids into business with them or helped to set them
up in a lucrative business.
Whenever my father would regal my brother, sister and I with the
achievements of his friends kids, we felt as if he was
insinuating that unless we also succeeded with those same types
of achievements, we would be shit. Once my dad gave us a resume’
of each of his friends, he then would regale his friends with
our achievements.
Except for my sister, my dad would greatly exaggerate what James
and I were doing in our lives. That was because Lynn was
actually quite studious and doing well, while James and I were
doing worse than mediocre.
With my brother and I, my dad was forced to gloss over and focus
on saying things like James is a mechanical genius and could
take apart anything and fix it. He would tell his friends that I
read lots of books and had an encyclopedic memory about animals.
My dad also made it a point to tell them that I was a football
star at Upper Merion, (I was not), and he felt the need to even
exaggerate my physical prowess.
It felt odd to me that as he held court, he would glowingly
describe my achievements of the games that he never saw. Lynn,
James and I often felt like we were part of a dog and pony show,
with my dad fucking with the special effects because reality was
not impressive enough of a show for his friends.
After dinner, I would tire with hanging out with my dad and his
friends. As a kid, I preferred to hang out with adults, but now
it was different. As a kid, before my parent’s divorce, my
relatives like to talk about life, the obstacles they faced, and
how they overcame them. My dad’s adult friends spent most of
their time at these events as an exercise in self-glorification,
or often they prattled about things that even at my age I
thought were superficial and meaningless.
To be completely fair, it was also my sexual drives that
compelled me to leave these events and visit a girl who lived in
my dad’s complex of condos. I was compelled to follow my loins.
I will call her Susan. She was about a year older than me and
had a body built for sin. She had short straight blond hair cut
in a sporty mod look that was popular in the day. Despite the
fact that she suffered from a bad case of acne, I thought she
was was very pretty.
Aside from my lustful drives, I felt I had also connected with
Susan.
We
would compulsively indulge ourselves with kissing and heavy
petting. She was quite taken by me and quite insecure about her
acne problem. She told me that because of her acne, her parents
were going to put her on birth control pills, which supposedly
was suppose to help clear up the skin condition.
Susan made it very plain to me that once she was on birth
control, we would both be enjoying the side benefits of the
medication, (Wink, wink! Know what I mean? Wink, wink!).
But, until that happened we would have to content ourselves with
her jerking me off while we kissed and me playing with her
‘pussy’, formerly known as a Pee-pee hole until we both
convulsed with orgasms, over and over again. I was impatient for
the day that Susan and I could have intercourse, since it had
been two and a half years that I had been with Carlita.
On this one occasion, I invited Susan to come back with me to my
dad’s condo and I did this for a few reasons. The first reason
was that I really like Susan’s company, and the other is that I
was hungry again and my dad kept the chuck wagon open whenever
he was entertaining guests. This was important to me since I
still focused on my stomach's needs. It was apparent to my dad
and his guests that I was in the throes of a lusty crush with
Susan.
Later my dad decided that I needed another “Man to Man” talk.
“I see that you’re sniffing around with the little squirrel”, he
said referring to Susan.
I was embarrassed and did not feel up to talking about Susan’s
and my relationship.
He continued in his gruff voice, “She’s a hot little number,
she’s got all the boys in the neighborhood swarming around her.
I must
admit, she has got a hot little body on her. Although, with that
skin problem of hers, she’s got a face that only a mother could
love! Hey, what the hell, he added, any port in a storm
jitterbug. That’s what I always say, any port in a storm!”
I burned with humiliation and outrage that my dad would dare to
be so inconsiderate of my feelings about Susan, to infer that
Susan “had a face that only a mother could love.”
My dad’s face was flushed with more than his share of alcohol as
he leans in to speak in conspiratorial tones, “She wants you to
fuck her! You got to go for it, and you better not fuck it up!
But you better damn well wear a rubber when you fuck her.”
I was almost choking with discomfort.
“Don’t you dare fuck her without a rubber. A lot these young
squirrels will talk you into fucking them without a rubber, just
so they can snag you. A lot of them also want to get pregnant.”
“My dad went into a rant, “If you fuck up and get her pregnant,
you better not come crying to me, because there is no way that I
am going to be a grandfather and support some little bastard
when you should have been smart enough to put a raincoat on your
little man. I don’t need the agita.”
That
was my first discussion with my father’s concerning the facts of
life.
He slaps me on the shoulder, gives me a wink and said, “Capesse?”
And I did understand. I was not at all surprised that he wanted
me to have sex with Susan.
For my dad as with a lot of fathers, their sons having sex at an
early age somehow brings kudos to them. I didn’t know why this
was, but it seemed to be true.
I also understood that my father would never be party to any caring of his grandchildren. In my mind, there was never any
confusion on this matter since I still smarted over his neglect
and disregard of us since the divorce.
Later, after the party, I still struggled with what little
remnants of craving and my desire for both my father’s love and for
some of his mentoring. I craved to learn how I could best
navigate through life. I felt anxiety over the fact that I had
not been performing very well at school and I was fearful about
how I was going to make my way in the world. I worried about how
in the hell I was going to do as well as the children of his
friends.
My dad said, “Look, no one ever taught me or showed me anything.
I had to learn on my own. That’s what you’re going to have to
do. I don’t have time to sit you down in what little time we
spend together and show you what it takes. It’s not my fault,
your mother wanted the divorce.”
I felt dismayed, “But you could tell me what you can when we do
get together. Couldn’t you ask your rich friends to teach me
what I need to know?”
“They have their own families to worry about, besides, they are
too selfish to help other people, all they care about is
themselves”, my dad’s voice was disdainful.
“I know that no one taught you, I know that Grandpa didn’t help
you, but couldn’t you teach me what you have learned on your
own? Couldn’t you ask your friends for advice and teach me what
they have learned?”
My dad’s parting statement was, “Everyone’s got to learn for
themselves, everyone has to pull their own weight, chew their
own leather. No one ever helped me.”
As my dad drop us back at my mom’s house, I felt sad at what he
had told me. I felt uncertain as to how I would make my way in
the world, and as I settle down for the night I heard an echoed
whisper of his voice in my mind, “Any port in a storm
jitterbug.”
That was the second to the last time I ever asked my dad for
advice. Because of his dismissal, it never occurred to me to ask
anyone for help or advice until I reached my thirties, and only
when they wanted advice from me on certain matters. Only then
would I feel comfortable with bothering someone for advice in
areas of their expertise. Mostly when it was a “tit for tat” or
“quid pro quo” situation.
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