The cobbler’s children have no shoes, and don’t get me wrong, I was always proud of my dad for being a cobbler—it’s an important job with a fascinating history, it lets people forestall the purchase of new footwear, which can be a huge personal financial drain—but going to school barefoot for twelve years really did a psychological number on me and my siblings. Two of them aren’t speaking to him anymore; one blames him for her drug addiction. I don’t know. I suppose I can see what he was thinking at the time, but that doesn’t excuse him. At any rate, that’s probably why, when I started my own family, my priority was making sure they wore shoes at all times, even in the shower. When the old man visits, I can tell he’s judging me, but I’m like, fuck you, this is what a real father does for his kids.
ONE SMALL BLOW AGAINST ENCROACHING TOTALITARIANISM
“For those of us on intimate terms with the habits of American power, who have long been kettled at the edges of society, tarrying with illusions of democratic inclusion is dangerous business.” — Rich Blint
May 7, 2014
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