Become a Fan
By Charlie B
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Not rated by the Author.
A literary exercise, but I kind of enjoy it still
I am 32 years old. Do you know what that means? I donít. I know there is something there, looming behind the number, but I fail to see it. Some people tell me that the age is an account of where I have been in life; others tell me it is nothing but a figure in our minds.
I work in a factory. I make cars. They arenít anything special really, justÖcars. It doesnít pay very well, and the hours are poor, but it has its perks. Well, one perk really: itís easy to think while on the job, and so I can be at peace while working.
As a young man, I could never manage to make girls like me. No matter how hard I tried. For a large portion of my life, I focused solely on this one thing. The first girl who fell for me, I married. I was 17.
I regret that choice now. We decided to have kids when I was 19, but it turned out I was unable to have any children. We talked about adoption, but she was never too keen on the idea. I had to drop out of school to support her. After I paid for her college education she left me for a younger man. I consider her my first child. I am her father in spirit if not in name.
At the time I worked at a large farm as a herder. I had a friend who helped me through the crisis of my wife. He loved me, even if he wasnít all that intelligent. Two months after she left me, he lost his hand in an accident, and I allowed him to have my job so he could live. I consider him my second child. I am his father in spirit if not in name.
I moved on to the factory I currently work in, I was 27. I was feeling old and weary. My hands were already scarred and mangled from long labor, my back bent and my skin dark from the sun. I was no longer concerned with females, and they were no longer concerned with me. I had a young friend there who had many troubles with the ladies. I lead him from one girl to another, always trying to keep his chin up. One day, I caught him trying to shoot himself in the head during break. I tried to stop him, and he shot my knee instead. I still have a severe limp and must walk with a cane. I can never drive again. I consider him my third child. I am his father in spirit if not in name.
Today, I am 32 years old. Do you know what that means?
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