Monday, February 24, 2014

Sweet Papa

The to-do list that Papa had put together was totally useless. Form the beginning it seemed like our little family vacation was totally doomed. The first day found our alabaster flesh burned like crisp bacon by the blazing Mexican sun. We were all miserable after that. Papa caught the worst though. He lay on the bed in his white briefs, wrapped in a poly-cotton sheet, soaked thru with his own sweat and filth. He wouldn’t stop mumbling and groaning. It was agony for us all. The garbage can next to his bed reeked and badly needed emptying. It all began earlier that morning at the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet where Papa had insisted on trying the ‘Mexicali Smoked Salmon’. We had all strongly advised him against it. The salmon had a rainbow glisten as it sat perspiring away in the high Mexican heat. But Papa “Just had to have it”. Now he was paying the high-price, as Montezuma ravaged away at his bowels and tormented his mind-tank. What hurt the most wasn’t the sunburn or the repulsive stench of Papa’s bile – it was the deep sting of seeing our father reduced to such a crumpled and lowly being. He had always been our central figure of strength, but now it was almost impossible to not to pity him and feel a deep sense of shame that he had brought upon our house.

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