I wanted to hold off on this rambling until June for the obvious, “BLAH~! Father’s Day~!” reasons. But. I. Absolutely need to do this now. Right now. With all hopes, my father will be able to read this. Or have it read to him. Or both. Both is good. Meme, things, I guess?

Shut up, me.

According to my father, the Christian God told him that he’d have a son name Ryan David. One, two, skip a few, ninety-nine.

Hi! How are ya?!

Pretty sure I already made that joke there, or something similar, at some point in this “biographical” thingus that I’ve been writing. But. Whatever.

I just…

I don’t know. I know that I absolutely NEED to write this right now. I’m just… Scramble-brained about it, I guess.

And I guess… the best place to start is with…

The previous was last edited on February 17th, 2024. It is currently the early morning of March 9th, 2024.

Since. I’m currently at an even bigger loss on how to start this rambling. I’ll throw this here to stall for time. Or. However writing works.

Needed Welly’s input.

Mty dad died. On February 21st.

It’s not lost on me that I’ll, inevitably, have to write an obituary type of thing. Or if we do decide to do a memorial and we do decided to have… I don’t know what they’re called, cards? Pamphlets? I’d have to design those. As well as write them. But right now, dear reader. I’m here.

Writing my story. My “epic” biography. Of the pathetic life, thing, that is me.

I can’t do that without writing abut my dad. Thankfully (I guess?), pretty much all of the wortst aspects of how he “affected” me have been dealt with in the previous chapters of me or whatever. But also, I’ve already shared my favorite memory of my dad. Thanks, Jennifer Maria Kenpeau, I guess?

So here. For now. I’ll give you this story. I’ve never shared this with anyone in my life. Ever. Hell. My brother himself probably wouldn’t even recall it. And I wouldn’t blame him. But it’s true. This story did happen. I promise.

And. Obbviously, I could go on so many random sidenotes about my brother. But no , I won’t. And who knows if I ever will. But nevermind that shit.

We were drunk. We were hanging out. Probably watching some movie. My brother and I. We were in my room. The room in which I’m currently sitting and writing this rambling. Those years were very emotional. My brother was dealing with a brutal custody battle. And he hadn’t completely destroyed my view of him at that point.

One thing lead to another. He’s feeling down. I’m trying to build him up. I tell him how strong he is. How hard he works. How he’s dedicating himself to this custody fight. I tell him to name me a stronger, more dedicated man in the world than him.

Without hesitation.

He says, “Our dad.” Except, he said the full name.

And I’m immediately defeated.

That’s who my dad is. That’s who he was.

My dad was strong. He was tough. He was quiet. He was humble. He was dedicated to his God. He loved science fiction. He was enthralled by history. His time in the navy gave him an even deeper understanding of the more modern history. And he loved all of the aspects of it.

I was three-to-five-years-old. And I’d lay in his lap or whatever. He’d grab my hand. And he’d wave my arm around to the theme song to Star Trek: The Next Generation as the show’s opening credits would begin. And at the end of the… I dunno… crescendo? I don’t know musical terms. It’d go like… BAHbum BUHBUMBUMBUM… you know? Those last four beats, he’d bump my chest.

At first, none of that looked familiar lol

I’d lay there up against him. My head on his stomach. My ear right up against his guts, lol… I’d hear all the weird creaking and cracking noises that would accompany such a thing. And more times than I could coumt, I’d purposely try to match my breaths along with his. Why? I don’t know. I was three-to-five-years-old. It seemed like a good idea, I guess.

And now. I’m here.

The last few days, I wake up from taking a nap. And for whatever reason, the thought consistantly pops in my head, “Oh yeah, I’m in the reality where my dad’s dead.”


Merhaps. There’s a reality out there where he’s not. Merhaps his religious conviction had merit and he’s in that golden city. Merhaps.

Either way, I can’t leave without saying: Happy birthday, dad.

I love you.

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