My Father. The Alien.
My dad was always a little strange, different. One day I figured out why.
My father, the alien.
Growing up
I always thought my dad
was a little strange.
Not much
just a little
like those aliens
in the Twilight Zone
who were just like us
but had one oddity
that gave them away.
He was like most dads
in those days, the late 60s
we, in our time and place
working the land
long beards, homemade wine in hand
hopes of a better tomorrow
peace not war, live for today
goats, gardens, barefoot kids running around
late night campfires and song.
Yet, I knew my dad
was strange. A little off.
He'd dance around like
Ponce de Leon at the beach
wearing his speedo
everything hanging out,
us kids scattering, hoping
nobody thought he was
OUR dad.
And he kept EVERYTHING.
Old wrappers, 20-year-old magazines,
tobacco tins which I filled with old nails
pounded and painfully removed from old boards.
He kept everything.
But most peculiar of all
was his English.
He spoke it fluently, perfectly
yet
one word gave him away -
"develop".
"Devilup", he'd say.
"We have to devilup the plan."
and me, a 9 year old
would tilt my head
and think,
"My dad is an alien".
Only years later did I discover
he truly was an alien
from some far-off place
called "Europe".
It was then that my dream
to live a life of difference
as a human, all too human
but with some alien in me
really began.
Thank you dad, my alien.