on fathers, sons, parsnips and turnips
and apples and trees and tasteless faces
To an ant the distance traveled by an apple once it leaves a tree is massive.
To a human the distance is much smaller.
In fact, it’s been remarked regularly that apples don’t travel far from the tree that produced them.
I’m a bit of a weirdo in the world.
My dad?
He seemed pretty darn normal for much of my life.
That was when I had the lived experience of an ant.
Now that I’m older, I see him differently.
Now that I’m older, I can see that of course I’m weird. Look at my dad.
He would likely bristle at this description.
He even passes out there in the world as a ‘normal’.
He can go play snooker, shop at stores and even try on pants without his oddies being discovered.
Just don’t ask him about his turnip.
No, he’s not an avid horticulturist. Though growing up we did have a Victory Garden. The turnip in question? I’m not sure she has a name.
Yet.
This turnip of unknown origins and unknown arrival times lives on the landing between the main floor of their house and the basement. She’s amongst the daily used cellar veggies - the potatoes and onions that live in bins that are just convenient enough.
I think she was brought in with the hopes of being eaten.
Instead?
She just stayed there and waited.
As she waited the dehydrated and become wrinkled.
My dad found her and drew on a face.
Then?
He put her back.
At Christmas time, he showed her off to anyone who would look.
My Dad is proud of his prized turnip.
In an attempt to play along, my wife librerated a similar parsnip - another veggie deemed to sacred, too human to eat.
She drew a face on the wrinkled parsnip and presented him to my father as a Christmas present.
Funny enough?
He left her behind.
I guess apples may not fall far from trees.
But parsnips and turnips?
They’re even distasteful to each other.
And I thought it was just me.
Who knew?
Stay different Dartmouth.
The world needs your weirdness.
