That’s my dad in the 1970s. He’d been an engineer for Eastern Airlines, with perks like free flights around the world in First Class. He gave it up to become a psychotherapist, with perks like hearing peoples’ feelings.
Yes, to him, that was a perk.
Dad loves feelings.
When my sister and I were angry and wanted to hit, he’d say, “HEY. WE DON’T HIT. WE EXPRESS OUR FEELINGS.” (He said it loud.)
When we aimed for the stomach, he’d say, “HEY. THAT’S HOW HOUDINI DIED.”
I still need to fact check this.
The one exception, when physical attacks were allowed, was when we took it out on inflatable Bozo. We were allowed to beat the crap out of him, and he asked for it. Look at him and that stupid hair.
Then again, look at my dad’s facial hair. You can see why Bozo is laughing: “I’m getting beat up by a guy with that beard?”
1) There were always lots of coins in that sofa. It was ugly, but rich.
2) I guess the Marimekko curtains were kind of cool.
3) That room was my dad’s study. On a high shelf was a book called “Games Children Play.” I got on a chair and took it down one boring weekend, thinking I could use some new games to play. I flipped it open to a chapter about what to do when you find your son and his friend masturbating side by side.
Happy TBT and almost-Father’s-Day!
What are YOU feeling? Tell me in the comments. Then, go take it out on Bozo.