This was Monday.
When midnight hit and the day clicked by on the calender, I was at a party. More specifically, I was in the backyard minding the fire. I like fire. I like watching the flame move beneath the first layer of wood on the log. And it was more interesting then Fanboys.
I was designated driver that night and the party was full of people I didn't know and in truth, I wasn't really in the mood. But I had friends who had wanted to be there, mostly to drink more than anything so I drove. But that is not really the point of this story.
That party ended in a fight because of a dumbass kid thinking it would be okay to slip a spoon down the back of my friend's girlfriend's pants while they were napping on top of one another.
Things escalated quickly.
My friend's girlfriend didn't very much appreciate someone she didn't know violating her privacy and personal space like that. She gave him a fuck you and slammed a door on her way out. The kid went back to his group of friends not understanding why she was mad. My friend woke up, and wondered why his girl was sad. He found out and got very angry very fast. Someone tried to stand up for the kid which helped nothing. People holding people back, trying to calm people down, things get knocked over, the party is done, people filter out. And me being me, I grab a trash bag and start helping cleaning up. The mess is cleaned up quick with 9 or so people working at it.
But that isn't really the point either. I told you that story to tell you this story.
Me, my brother and our friend went somewhere else to sit, drink and chill. Another friend's house. Most of the people there are already asleep. It was chill.
The real story is after everyone is asleep and it's just me and my friend's dad. You see, my friend's dad is a lot like my dad. Older men from the old country.
Like my dad, he keeps a lot of things locked away in his heart with no one to talk to. And like my dad, he opened up to me. We spent all night talking, finally ending our conversation at 8 am when other people starting waking up. We covered his entire life. The conversation shifted from hilarious to deeply serious and intense. It went from us not being able to breath from laughing to his eyes tearing up in that way men's eyes do when they hold back tears.
His life hasn't been an easy one. But he isn't bitter. He is simply weary. It's a deep sense of being tired that comes from working hard so someone else can live better. He's injured now and can't work. His kids don't work. They don't look for work. He wants to work and doesn't begrudge them that.
But now it is time for the moral of the story.
On the drive home I talked about it, leaving out more personal details their father had told me and my brother said something I'd like to quote.
"Like, I can't remember if I told you this but this reminds me of something I thought about. Like white parents are living for themselves you know? But mom and dad? They're living for us. They're living so we can have a better life."
Now, putting the racial distinction aside, that has been dwelling on my mind. It represents a lot of sacrifice. It also represents a lot of weight. Weight on my shoulders. A reminder that my grades have a hit a low since I got into college and my parents are more worried about my brother's grades than mine. I am the good son after all. They don't know my grades yet. I am hoping to pick them up with finals but I am not liking my chances.
I dunno. This started off as me mostly wanting to fill the nodeshell. But the words took on a life of their own. But that is because like my friends dad, like my dad, like my brother and like countless other people in this world I am the kind of person who locks away things in his heart and doesn't normally release them. Of course, unlike my friend'd dad or my dad or many other people in the world, I don't have anything to complain or worry about. I live a blessed life for which I am grateful and certainly don't deserve. This is me just... I'm not sure anymore.
Whatever this was, thanks for listening guys.