Prompt: Imagine that your father—or your father figure—left you a suitcase, either real or metaphorical. What would it contain? Words of wisdom? A check to cover therapy? Precious family heirlooms or nostalgic tchotchkes? All of the above? Tell the story of what you'd find inside.
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I'm going to cheat at this one and republish an essay I wrote earlier this year from a prompt in my creative writing class.
Life Lessons With Larry: A Cautionary Tale
The ideal parent leads by example, demonstrating good habits and unimpeachable strategies for navigating life and relationships. Good parents, as in most of them, try their best but have their faults. “Do as I say, not as I do,” is often their modus operandi.
And then there’s my dad. Larry led by example, alright. He was a walking, talking example of every page you should skip in the Choose Your Own Adventure book of Life. Did he have his share of demons? Absolutely, yes. Was he, himself, a monster? No. At least his legions of friends didn’t think so. Problem was, he met all his buddies through their mutual friends, Johnny Walker, Jack Daniels, and even, in leaner times, Evan Williams.
I know, I know, name dropping is so gauche. I only tell you this so you understand that my dad had a lot of friends, and some of them were powerful figures. With friends like those, demanding so much of your time and your money, too, you don’t have a lot of either left over for your family.
But it’s fine, it’s totally fine. When he wasn’t disappearing for days a time and reappearing with stitches in his face sustained in a little tumble on a Las Vegas casino escalator, he did manage to impart some solid fatherly wisdom. Larry was a man of few words, though. He was kind of cryptic, a cipher, an enigma wrapped in a riddle, shrouded in mystery and reeking of scotch. He wasn’t religious or even spiritual. He called himself a realist. I believe he fell somewhere between pessimism and nihilism.
Take his go-to words of comfort, meant to be a salve to any misfortune or complaint. “Life sucks and then you die.” Uplifting, no? I doubt he ever read any Hobbes, unless, wait, did Hobbes have a column in Playboy? But he really bought into the whole, “life is nasty, brutish, and short” mentality. Not exactly the kind of parental platitude that you’d embroider on a pillow or weave into the theme of a didactic children’s book, but that’s what’s so refreshing about it. Instead of catastrophizing every scraped knee, bombed test, failed marriage, or incarcerated child, just dismiss your struggles as yet another meaningless non-event in your meaningless non-existence.
Because variety is the spice of life (even a nasty, brutish one) sometimes he would switch things up and pepper conversations with a dash of, “You’ll have that.” Among his friends, of both the bottled and corporeal variety, I’m sure he coarsened this to “Shit happens,” but the sentiment was the same. Setbacks are a part of life and there’s no sense in sugar-coating it. You’ve heard of helicopter parents, who micromanage their children’s affairs? And bulldozer parents, who clear a smooth path, demolishing any obstacles that stand in their child’s way? Let’s say he was more of a Mad Max War Rig, barreling down the highway of life focused on his own mission while occasionally tossing debris in my path. Also, frequently driving off-road, at least until that resulted in a suspended license.
Where the aforementioned phrases paint a picture of Larry’s philosophical leanings, his most frequently used bon mot truly encapsulates his essence. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em,” is not something you see on many, or any, tombstones, but I’m still kicking myself over that missed opportunity. What a way to live! Nihilism and hedonism often go hand in hand, because everything is nothing and nothing matters, and any one of us could drop dead at any moment. You can’t take it with you, so get your meaningless kicks while you can. If there is pleasure to be seized, no matter how temporary, seize it now. Remember how much life sucked just 5 minutes ago? So go ahead, smoke that cigarette. Hell, chain-smoke 3, in the car, with the windows up and your child in the passenger seat. Are you thirsty? Here, scotch is basically water, and friends don’t let friends drive dehydrated.
All that sounds like a horror show. That wasn’t a saccharine ode to my dear old dad who molded me into the well-adjusted, stable adult I am today. It’s all there in the title, though. This was a cautionary tale. Don’t be like Larry. I know it, now you know it. I resisted the influence, and thankfully, my optimist mom gets all the credit for warping me into the delightful human I am today. But yea, shit’s dark, and maybe I’ve bummed you out, but you’ll have that.
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