|my father and the end of the world
||[Dec. 5th, 2009|04:09 pm]
Spinning 45 Ballerina
My father wasn’t really that good with kids, (or maybe just little girls, I don’t know). He was always fibbing, making me believe every kind of nonsense he could think of. And that’s normal for dads, a lot of the things he convinced me of was just the normal stuff father’s tell you, like the time he told me he was a thousand years old. I didn’t believe him at first, but then he pretended to get sad and said that he wished he was younger, but that he couldn’t change it and I should feel sorry for him. So I felt sorry for him, and the next couple of months I won every “my fathers older then yours”-contest there was. Sometimes though he went little further. One time he was walking me home form kinder garden and telling me about the Aztec calenders and about how they predicted the world would end in 2012. “But that’s not true is it? That the world will end because they’re calender ended?”. He put on that half angry voice “Of course it’s true!”. Then he calculated how old I would be when the world ended, and speculated on how we would all die. We laugh about it now, but and unfortunate side effect of this trauma is that I still sort of believe in the 2012 prophesies, cause that’s what happens when you toy with impressionable minds. (This other time he told me I had to dismember his body when he died, and burry the chunks of flesh by trees he’d planted, so they could feed on him... but that’s another story.)
So the world ends the day after my 27th birthday. I’m thinking party at mine, and then on the 21th we all go home to our families and hold them tight while waiting for the giant tsunami. Some of the scenes in the movie where just too brilliant, I wouldn’t want to miss those views for the world... or maybe just exactly, for the price of one planet.