Washing Up

‘You’re dreams are awoken so much through life, that you realise success will only be achieved by a win on the lottery.’

Dad was on a bleak one. Washing the dishes tended to make him far too reflective, to the point where he often turned in on himself. I liked these monologues as he was the most accurate prediction of myself as an older man. Understanding his perspective encouraged me to find an alternative route through life – the delusions of the child that they can do better.

‘You see. You have two choices. Probably more, but I’d say two. You can either go for a dream or follow logic. The dream is always something that is difficult to achieve, usually involves you being better than other human beings and essentially gets your name in some book. You go for the dream and miss it, you’re fucked. A fool. A failure and a source of ridicule to everyone who used logic. You are the reminder that the roulette wheel spins so the house can win. However, if you do make it, everyone else is the source of ridicule, everyone else is the fool. You can insult who you like, get your cock out if you want. You win the game. With the logic option, it’s taking a path which you know you can succeed in, based on your intellect and energy. It always involves little steps, where the reward slowly increases. You enjoy it a bit, at times, and it’s the lesser of other evils, however, it will never fulfil like the dream. You’ll never be at the top of Maslow’s triangle.’

‘Right.’

‘What I mean is, I look out over this street and I see the houses opposite. There are millions of houses better than this and millions of houses which are worse. I wonder whether I should have done a bit more dream following, rather than pursuing… well, I suppose it’s comfort and security isn’t it? Yeah, bollocks to what I’ve been saying, that’s pretty much it. I went for the logical options because I feared the perils of missing the mark and being left with nothing. It’s strange isn’t it? That’s probably why our family has survived because we’ve kept ourselves safe. Both your grandfather’s survived the war. I know you can’t control a bullet, but I bet it was something to do with following logic. We’re not bothered about a Victoria Cross, we’re bothered about getting home in one piece. But to do what? To live quietly and avoid risk?’

He caught me smiling at his mania and started laughing. He then turned his head back down to the suds and shook his head.

‘Look, all I’m saying is, all of these feelings that we feel are pretty much horse shit. Us lot have survived for thousands of years as we’re very good at shitting ourselves and taking the option which will ensure that we pass on our genes. Look at you. You wanted to leave school after your GCSE’s. You hated that place. What did that teacher say to you?’

‘That I treated school like a means to an end. I wasn’t enthusiastic enough, apparently.’

‘Exactly! What a fucking appraisal! A means to an end! I wish we had a coat of arms, as that would be straight on the bottom! If I go within the next few years, get that on the grave stone. Forget my name, just, ‘Life for this man was a means to an end’.’

‘No problem, you’ll be wanting a mid-range coffin I presume?’

‘Absolutely, why throw money away? But what I’m saying is, you knew at sixteen that you hated education, but you stayed in it and now you’re a fucking teacher! Why?! Because you used logic. Every year your wage goes up a little higher, doesn’t it? Every year, you get a little more. Do you like it? A bit. Would you prefer to be writing or in some band? Yes. You’re cursed boy.’

My dad removed his hand from the water and began to hex me with his wiggling fingers.

‘Yeah, but whose fault is it Dad?’

‘Not mine! And the beauty is that me and you are here because of it! Without the caution, we’d have died in some field a thousand years ago.’

‘Yeah, but you and mum are far more cautious than me. I will visit places outside of Europe and don’t take half an hour to lock the house up.’

He then took on a Nazi voice. It was German in sound, however, the application of a foam moustache and the rigid nature of his strides made it difficult to believe he was pursuing political correctness.

‘Lizen here mein kinder. You have a very small dose of ze cautious gene. You needz to fulfil the ambitionz for ze Farzerang!’

He then proceeded to bend over and laugh at the floor. The wisdom was over, the loving jester had found his way to the surface.