The Art of Sonship.

have you ever messed up majorly bad and thought to yourself, 'oh my God! You are so...dumb! you'll never hear the end of this!' well, i have some hope for you, if this is the case: That thought didn't come from God. it is mostly indistinguishable where exactly that thought originated (yourself or otherwise), but it exactly did not come from God, that is to be sure.

so, knowing that it did not come from God is usually not enough for most people (high Theologians included) to accept right away after incidence occurred, which is the nature of co-incidence in general. to go on, i have to distinguish coincidences and co-incidences: coincidences are strictly dependent upon the existence of incidences, the idea that any two (or more) incidences can happen in the same general frame of time and space without a recognizable cause and form an extraordinary situation (ie 'what a coincidence, running in to you here...at the mall...where i used to work...oh, and you still like the same music you liked last summer...what a small world, you know i still live here too, and you seem to, too...' as if it's wholly unreasonable for two people to see eachother in a place where they both have ties and um... exist!), but co-incidences are different, in that they are not dependent upon the existence of incidences but rather the existence of existences. by 'existence of existences,' i mostly refer to different existences, in a way essential differences, like how i am essentially whole (ie my essence is founded upon the idea that my existence is made whole) and how much of the world around me not only is not essentially whole but self-definitively fractional and even goes so far as to shout the idea from every store window and food court, telling us to make ourselves whole with a new phone, or a new style, or a new box of random cheap stuff you probably won't want once you know what's inside (i saw this once and thought it was funny: my friend was consumed with 'what's in the box?' she was essentially unwhole in her knowledge of the box' contents. if she sought it and bought it, i could tell which was more important to her: the prospect of knowing the contents of the box and being disappointed, or the prospect of not having the box.). the problem with the clash of essences is that, even though there are things i hate about my former self (namely the activities which i expressed best by my non-whole essence), i still miss the familiarity, but never until faced with the familiarity, oddly enough. but frustratingly not oddly enough to not desire familiarity.

now that i don't smoke, i don't want a cigarette until i think about a cigarette. i don't go around the whole day thinking, 'i quit smoking in July, but i want a cigarette.' that would only be 'quitting for now', instead of what i did: decided that cigarettes could not fulfill me anylonger, that they were counterproductive to a full life, and now that my nature is decidedly unfounded in smoking (or satisfaction from smoking), i the opposite of think about smoking. it's kinda what non-smokers do and kinda what makes quitting ridiculously difficult for those who try and those around them: that they are turning away from cigarettes, knowing full well that they can go to the store at any time and buy a pack or that they can run into a person with a cigarette almost anywhere given that it's outside (which you don't really think of how big 'outside' is until you want a cigarette and know all you have to do is stay in the store with your dad until he's done haggling with the clerk, but simultaneously all you have to do is 'go to the car' *wink wink* for your special thing *wink wink* that's in the car that you for some reason need right now at the end of your trip to k-mart that makes your shopping experience complete *wink wink*).

Dad totally knew. He knew i didn't need my ipod at check-out, he knew why i was avoiding him for the previous 5 minutes, and he knew that if i actually did retrieve my ipod from the car that the ipod wasn't the reason for the trip. it was to be satisfied. by a cigarette. a chrono-synclasitcally counterintuitive thing (a cigarette is only functional as its ability to be smoked. think about it: a cigarette is only good for the moment, because outside of the moment, it's just carbon monoxide as ash and smoke, tar, and tar-stained brown cotton, and those things are not satisfying, epecially the cotton *cringes*...and they certainly aren't  productive. no, it's just the cigarette that's producitive of those unproductive, counterproductive things.)...and the ride home is awkward, me just chilling in the passenger's seat with my ipod in my ears pretending to be consumed by the dead bug on my window, knowing that my dad smells the smoke, because my brother was a gas pumper and pumped gas for people while they sat in their car and smoked with the window cracked and sometimes blew the smoke in his face deliberately to demonstrate their superiority (which is unfortunate because had they realized that the attendant needed to be inferior to commit his time to the fun life of pumping gas for other people and knowing that not all will appreciate it but still just being thankful that there are those who do enough that it justifies the exposure to the elements, harassment, and the sacrifice of fun for duty.), dad also knowing that i was likely less than pleased with myself, and him also knowing that i wanted to tell him really badly that i messed up even though he already knew and i knew it.

just the sheer torutre of the awkward anxiety and turmoil i faced over smoking a cigarette, not murder, not rape, not herion, not anything that's gonna land me a nickel, just a cigarette. but the tortue did not come from smoking the cigarette. the torutre came from what i perceived my dad to be thinking: how mad i thought he was gonna be, how much he was gonna fuss about why i can't just say i'm gonna do something and stick with it, how much he was gonna tell me that i can never do anything right, how much i figured he saw me differently now that i went back to smoking after i told him that i was done. and how i knew i was gonna feel like death on the inside until i told him but was too scared of not being loved the same. but the truth of the matter is that my dad cannot not love me.

we are biologicall tied. his d.n.a signature in embedded in my d.n.a.signature, and there is nothing i can do about that. but we are not only biollgically tied, because i am just as biologically tied to my brother. me and my dad are psychologically tied too in that we share commonalities with eachother that i got from him, and we are socially tied because all my freinds know he is my dad, but we are tied another way, and this is the coolest way if you ask me. me and my dad have a cool thing going on where he's my dad, especially when i don't want him to be.

i mean we were almost home when i blurted out, 'Oh my God! I smoked an effing cigarette, okay? what's the big effing deal?!?!' and my dad looks at me, not surprised and says, 'finally! now I can tell you that it's not the end of the world, that crap happens, you're not going to Hell or anything ridiculous like that, and that now we can make a guideline for when we are out:  knowing that i know that you are tempted to smoke when we are out, and knowing that you know that i know you really want a cigarette especially when we are out, if you stay with me and other health junkies like your brother (i mean, dude has muscles like you wouldn't believe and he knows how nasty smoking is in that he wasn't a smoker but was constantly surrounded by them), you will not pounce on the opportunity to smoke...and if you do think you're being rull sneaky, just know that you're not and that if you decide to sneak away again you'll feel like crap on the ride home and you'll tear me up on the inside knowing that you aren't telling me something because you're afraid i won't like you the same as before. ouch dude. who told you that?!'

in which case i shrug, and he hugs me and says, 'maybe when you're a dad you'll be able to see that i won't disown you, especailly over something as assinine as a cigarette, and that being a father and being a DAD are two different things:
i was your FATHER before you accepted me as your father and i punished you when you were bad as a kid (you shoudla seen your brother. i practically took the anger and hatered i had for the world out on him, so now i can chill with you the way i originally wanted!), but now...now, you're a grown man and we can be friends and i can tell you what you're doing wrong, mano y mano, because you recognize that i probably know a little more than you sometimes think i do and know that being a son means that you have to have a father, but there is nothing contained in the concept of fatherhood that i had to have been a son. i mean, i was...kinda...but just know that if i call you my son (ie i let you call me dad and enjoy you being my son, we hang out, have these neat little talks, you allow me to help you get healthy), you should consider that i am older and wiser sheerly in that i am a dad and you are not and that my ways are unknown to you (such as what we experienced in the car) and that this is proof (the relief that you have that i am not kicking you off the health club employee roster over this little thing you thought was sooooo big and that happiness that you have that i accept that you aren't always like me but i will not settle for letting you do dumb stuff) that i love you. it is all proof that i love you.