I think this was taken right before my dad disappeared.
You know how much I'm into recycling, right? So, for the next two posts, I'm going to use part of this fiction-y-er-ish story that I wrote a long time ago. Some of my friends have read it already, and you lucky folks, can just take yourself a break. This thing takes place right around when my dad left. In reality, I was four, but I made myself eight, or else it would have read a little too "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, moocow, baby tuckoo..." If you know what I mean. Okay, it's kind of fiction but most of it is based on shit I experienced or heard from the family. Got it?
I am eight years old today. My mom had to work so we will have my party tomorrow. My dad was supposed to get my cake and decorations, but he wanted to stop at the track for a minute and now I think he forgot. My brother says not to worry about it. Our mom will take care of it later. She will be mad, but she will get everything I need for my party. Now, my brother says we should go watch the races for a while and I can have my birthday tomorrow.
We go to tell my dad that we're going up front to try to see better. He is watching the horses. The old men at the track call them ponies. When there is a race going, he won't look anywhere else until the last horse crosses in front of him. Sometimes he won't even look up then. He will just stare and stare. He won't look up even if I stand in front of him and scream right in his face. I know because I did it once and he didn't blink. He doesn't do anything when we say where we're going, so we know we can do whatever we want now.
My father used to work at the racetrack taking pictures of the winning horses. I don't know why he doesn't anymore, but my uncle still does and that's why we get to sit in the VIP section. VIP doesn't mean vice president. When I tell my brother that's what I think it means, he calls me stupid and now I don't think that anymore.
"It means 'very important people'" He says and laughs the way he does when he hates my father.
The racetrack is made for adults. The fence that separates us from where the horses run is too high for me and my brother to see over. When the grownups get excited during a race, we stand up on the chairs to try to see, but the old men in the back seats get mad. "Sit down you goddamn hippie kids!" One of them yells and then they throw their racing forms and plastic cups that used to hold beer at us and we have to step down.
To be continued....