You're speechless, you don't know what to say to him. You haven't seen him since
he walked out on you and your mom years ago.
Saying nothing further, your father dons the mask again and resumes playing the
saxophone, a perfect rendition of Coltrane's take of the old song "Favorite
Things".
Impulsively, you start singing. Not the original words of the song, but cynical
lyrics of your own, inspired by remembrances of your childhood:
"Raindrops on beer cans and roaches in kitchens,
Half empty rum bottles, drunk in one sitting,
Broken toys fixed up with duct tape and string,
These are a few of my favorite things..."
Copyright 2000 - 2025 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.07 seconds at 3:15am on Apr 18, 2025 via server WEBX1.