Left Behind
ABOVE:
This is what my father accused me of leaving in his house.
The little guy must have been hiding in my backpack.
Clever. But then, he is a demon after all.
When I was about 20, my father, a devout born again Christian, cut me out of his life forever. Now here's the story behind it (which you will already have heard if you attended this month's Drink At Work Presents show at Siberia):
I was traveling from Boston to Los Angeles, and as an attempt to try to bridge the already chasmic gulf between my dad and me, I accepted an offer to stay a night at his house on my way to (ironically) the city of angels, which I might add is itself a pretty ironic name for a place like Los Angeles. The only creatures with the name "angel" in that place are "exotic dancers" trying to put their drug habit through school. Yes, they don't have wings and wouldn't know God from a $3 bill shoved up their tw*t, but for an extra c note she'll make you feel like you've died and gone to heaven. That's ...almost religious. Right?
Right.
I digress. I took my father's offer--Juan Ramon Crespo is his name. He's from El Salvador. I'm sure it brings him joy to see his latin ancestry carried on in me, his only brown-haired, pale-skinned, green-eyed Boston accented child....that is until he remarried and brought an even paler faced, even less latin-esque-than-me (if that's possible) child into the world. My step brother's name though is Juan Gabriel. Not Sean. At least my dad got to pick the name this time. By the way, if I haven't said so already, thanks Mom. "Sean" is working out just fine.
So I get there, stay the night, everything seems fine. Thought we had a good time, that we were finally getting along. WRONG.
I get to L.A. a few days later and receive a call from J.C. (my father's initials, and again, ironically, OUR FATHER'S initials). He proceeds to tell me he doesn't want me to talk to him or my little brother any more, never to write or call or visit again. Ever.
Oof.
This came as a complete surprise. I started bawling. I was horrified. My father, my blood, was cuting me out if his life forever. There had better be a great reason for this, I thought. Turns out, he was completely justified. I was wrong. He was right. See, when I asked him what I had done to deserve this treatment, he completely trumped my pitiful tears and tormented wailing. He told me (and these are almost exactly the words he spoke), "Well son, when you spent the night with us, you left a demon in the house."
PAUSE FOR EFFECT.
Now this is an unanswerable accusation. You may as well claim that your nose is the President of Zimbabwe. "I VOTED FOR HIM!" you yell. Well, nevertheless my friend, that makes no sense. And neither does saying your son left a demon in your house.
At first I thought he meant it metaphorically. A demon, as in "the demon of bad odors" or the "demon of improper bed making." Nope. He cleared that up quickly. I literally left a demon in his house he assured me. And even in the thrall of despair I found a moment of levity. After making sure he meant I had literally left a demon in his house, I asked if I could speak to it. And oh, we laughed and we laughed! And by "we laughed and we laughed" I mean "we yelled a lot after that remark."
Listen, this story goes on forever, as gripping as it is, but I have to get back to work.
Anyway, there were many more tears, much wailing and gnashing of teeth, etc. But bravely, like a latter day Abraham, my father fearlessly, with no regard for the piffling consequences sacrificed his son to please his god. Luckily though I was able to record this pivotal conversation. I present it now to the DAW audience. Please know that this is an actual recording and that some of the things you may hear on it will disturb you. Still, you are compelled. Go. Now. Listen. And remember...God loves you even if you're a shitty zealot of a father or the son on the receiving end of that dad's fucking retarded life choices.
The Conversation
I forgive you dad. But I can't forget it. So there we are.
And beside, I never told you Dad, when we were on the phone that day, I knew I left a demon in your house, but you got me back pretty good yourself. You left an insurmountable amount of grief in my house. Perhaps not a demon, but dangerous nonetheless.
Fuck you and every dipshit in dire need of being told how to live and who take the brilliant allegorical teachings of the Bible literally. You poison the earth with your spiritual pus and your emotional filth-guilt.
But you know what guys?
I forgive you.
See you in heaven, assholes.
Yours,
Sean Crespo
posted by Carol at 3:13 PM
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