Excerpt from The Bloody Aftermath of a Riot

chapter from this biography about my Dad

"I was listening to some music, some new noise that somebody turned me on to when I heard my Father from the other room say 'Son! I'm ready to talk some more for your little bullshit book about me! Get in here!' I got up, put my thinking cap on and found a seat in the rocking chair that his Dad, my Grandfather, made on a dare and I asked 'Well, what do you want to tell me, Dad?' My Mother was off doing some volunteer work or singing karoake at her asian friend's house because my Dad hates the sound of Her singing voice because it is frankly terrible so He was free to smoke in the house and He said 'If she asks, you fouled up our home...' I laughed and said 'I'm not a rat Dad, never have been and never will be.' He took two cigarettes out of a pack of Camels (not the unfiltered ones He used to smoke back in Europe but those pathetic pale imitations of what a cool cigarette was and the joys of knowing that one day you will die) He took a lighter I didn't know that He had held onto since His days in Germany before He met and married my Mother. It was dull and had seen better days but He still kept it filled with fuel and flint so all He had to do was a slight of hand card trick and it would produce flame. He lit up both smokes and handed me one and said 'Are you going to listen to me tonight or are you going to interrupt me everytime I talk...' I said 'I won't Mein Fuhrer...' He leaned back in His chair while some flick played itself on the television, it was some World War II documentary and He took a long drag off His smoke, had a drink and said 'You know Son, I was born in June 1944...sometimes I think I'm a reincarnated soldier who died that day during D-Day...but I can't prove it.' I nodded my head and then He told me about His first run for Judge. He was scheduled to speak at the Corpus Christi Taxpayers Association...'I didn't know why I was there. Those people were so bitter and broken by life and the only thing that kept them going was complaining and complaining and complaining about complainging. No wonder their kids don't talk to them. I was there at this table alone, nobody wanted to be near me or have anything to do with me but I was used to that. Politics is a dirty rough business and I'd been there before. I know how those things work, known that since I was a kid. I made a speech at that thing...' I asked Him 'Do you remember what you said that day, Dad?' He said 'No, I don't. I never remember anything after speaking in public, I don't remember how I won a case in trial. I remember waiting to go up and I remember leaving but everything else is a blank slate. You know that feeling, don't you Son? You do your little silly standup routines and those bands you're in, when you get offstage...honestly what do you do Son? I bet you do your best to shake hands along with the goodbyes and leave as fast as you can, don't you Son? Don't f****n' lie to me!' When He said that I knew that He was right, yes, I don't remember much of being on stage ever not in the something odd years I've been involved with that kind of cancer. I told Him 'I know Dad, I know...you made me or paid me to read that book 'It Can't Happen Here' and that one scene where the author goes to see this speaker speak and he couldn't remember what he saw but he was convinced that other character was right...' He laughed and said 'Go to bed Son and think about it when you wake up..."---from The Bloody Aftermath of a Riot: The Biography of Randall E. Pretzer Vol. II by Dan Pretzer