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June 16, 2003
BFTP: Two Trains Passing in the Night
You know, I kept a database of all my old entries from the original PrincessMelissa.com site. Yes, I have all that stuff, and I've been reading it for a couple hours searching for the best stuff to post on both this section and the Real World section. I'm creating a Blast From the Past kind of thing. You know, taking you way back when I was much less censored, a tiny bit more hyper, and yes, much more obsessed with pop culture and celebrities.
So, starting today, if you see an entry marked "BFTP: Insert Original Entry Title Here", then you'll know it's some raw old school 227 Rerun Balki Goonies type shit. Yeah! Hope you like it. Tell all your friends. Not really, but I don't know how else to premiere this concept. In truth, it is a good idea, but it was born out of the idea that this summer I'm trying to be tanning in Palm Springs and not sitting hugged up to my computer in my apartment where it's hot and I'm feeling like a slave in a chicken coop. So yeah. Blast From the Past. Oh yes, the only unfortunate thing about this stored database of my old stuff is that there are no dates attached. I can only tell you that these things were written between 2000 and 2002. Sad, sad. I love having dates attached to things I've written. I even write dates on Post-It reminders. Shucks almighty, take what you can get I guess.
And oh again, each BFTP entry will have my take today on what I wrote in those yesteryears. Can that word really be pluralized? How silly is it to make commentary on my own writing? Very, but it's my party and I can praise or clown, even if on myself, if I want to.
Now, my first BFTP is in honor of Father's Day. As you know, Shorty, my pops is the most hilarious and amazing person in my life. He's a character, man. He's obliviously hilarious, a good hard-working man with a sharp tongue, an uncensored mouth and a small shoe size (but you didn't hear that from me). I love him dearly and unconditionally. At 8 a.m.Father's Day morning, he called me and I was greeted with:
"Happy Father's Day, n*gga! I thought you might have forgotten."
Well, I didn't forget. And I wasn't really given a chance to show that I remembered considering it was 8 a.m. on my coast. So, for whatever it's worth, and knowing that he'll never see this public display of affection for him because he's too weird to upgrade from that awful WebTV unit he's got attached to his television in his berber carpeted office (and when I say office, I mean my childhood bedroom that now houses a desk, the ever-important paper shredder and a whole host of military ballpoint pens), I give you Two Trains Passing in the Night.
The first official BFTP:
I may have already told you about the most amazing piece of poetry I have ever received from a man, but I have to revisit. It's only right. My pops wrote me a poem called "Two Trains Passing in the Night". I was doing some spring cleaning, or pre-winter cleaning or whatever season this is, and I found the hand-written poem in its original envelope. Wanna hear it, here it go. Just an excerpt, if you will.
Let others hear your voice and see your deeds
And they will know that you are the daughter Of Shorty.
Melissa, I love you so,
sometimes it's hard to show.
Is it because we are alike
or is it because One of us can't party all night?
You are my youngest.
Okay, that's just a sample stanza of the greatest poem in the world. If you saw the whole thing, you'd be moved to tears (mostly of overjoyous laughter and happiness). And I don't want to make you cry. And some things are just sacred anyway. I mean, my father wrote me a poem. How sweet is that! It's ridiculously amazing. Oh, and I am not the youngest, but still.
Yoohoo, Marty McFly? We're back. The Blast has officially ended here, and now I'm talking in real time. So, back then, I was being selfish and didn't want to share everything he wrote with you for a few reasons. My boyfriend at the time, who is still to this day nagging me about writing a memoir or a collection of short stories about my parents, my upbringing and the luck or lack of in my life, told me to keep the entirety and exclusivity of the poem for a book. This would be a good time to thank all of you loyal readers of this site for all your accolades, and yes, I hear you when you say I should write a book. I don't take compliments too well, but thank you. Know that I appreciate it. Makes my heart warm, and all that mushy stuff.
As a matter of fact, I've officially started that book. Where will the book go? Who will buy the book? Does Simon & Schuster even know who I am? Nowhere, nobody, and not a chance in hell, I know. But one must try. I also know that it's not cool to say, "I'm writing a book." You can only say, "I've written a book" if that book is published and available for mass consumption, so know that I know. I'm on the same page as you. Trust me.
Anyway, to get the juices flowing on this whole writing the life story thing, I've decided to share the entire poem. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I read it from time to time when I get homesick. Call your dad today, man.
At the top of the folded yellow legal paper, my dad has written To: Melissa and then scribbled "x220" next to it. That was my extension at my old law firm job. At the time this poem was written, my father was so excited to have completed such a masterpiece and he did, in fact, call me at work to read it to me over the phone (I cried in my cubicle and said "Thank you, Daddy" a million times). A week later, he sent it to my apartment which was 15 minutes from our house.
The poem is not in any "proper" stanza form, it's just free flow. He's lyrically on the stream of consciousness tip, you know. When you see a bracket, (not a parenthesis because he used his own parentheticals) i.e.[blah blah blah], I'm explaining the actual written text because therein lies more beauty.
Melissa, I love you more than words can say, even though sometimes we disagree everyone says you act [the word "look" was crossed out and replaced with act] like me. Two trains passing in the night both of them without a light. But who would be the first to tell, because sometimes we act like were from hell. No one can tell us shit, it's the genes I say, you say it's the greens (money) I told you college educated fool stand up and be a tool (be counted) [Tool is apparently not a bad adjective to place on somebody in this case as he is proud that I have enriched my life with education]. Let others hear your voice and see your deeds and they will know that you are the daughter of Shorty. Melissa I love you so but sometimes its hard to show. Is it because we are alike or is it cause one of us can't party all night. You are my youngest. The smartest of all. Come talk to dad and hip his tail. [I don't know what "hip his tail" means, but this is poetry, follow along] Love is special between us and only you and I know, [all of this is crossed out: There's no one who decide so. I am a man, I am]. Your life is planned you must ["just don't" is crossed out] live it to the fullest and go for the gusto. You have accomplished many things in your life, college [and he wrote out four blanks that I think he wanted to go back and fill in, but couldn't quite remember what else I'd accomplished in life, so they are still blank], but the best one is the love for your Dad: Be it strange. Call it fate. You and I have a bond that will not break. I love you more than words can say and my final thought is to leave it that ay. I love you!
And he signed it "Your Dad" and in cursive wrote his full name out. I'm crying. He's the best. So, this is where I get my drive to someday make money hand over fist. With the first million that I make, if I ever do make a million, he's getting a house in Ocoee like he wants and a Z. What is a Z? He keeps talking about it. I'll never put him in a nursing home, and he'll have vacations and prawns and hot tubs. Whatever he wants. I hope to do these things for him one day.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I didn't forget.
Posted by melissah at June 16, 2003 06:46 AM