Sunday, June 17, 2012

About Fathers

I had this incredible dream that included Stephen King as a sort of Dr Seuss character (complete with a family of stranger-than-life characters). The details are sketchy at this point, but some kids got killed. Also, I was walking around with a survivor backpack that held small 'fruit juice' drinks, two Gatorades, and six bottles of water. Strange dream? Not even close.

At first we thought the murderer was King's son. But, it wasn't. To escape the scandal, King and his son (who was in handcuffs) took a bus ride out of the city, then a bus ride to their secluded little town in the middle of nowhere. They arrived at the small city, took a waiting car back to their secluded trailer.

"So this is it?" The son looked at the trailer, sunlight began to dissipate in the background. He sat on the hood. He stared at his handcuffs, wondering what the point of wearing them so long could be. He looked back at the trailer as blue fondant and foam spilled out of the windows and chimney.

"Yep," King smiled.

The door burst open and in a strange perspective, taller than life men and women walked out of the trailer. They wore intricate designs on their long pants and skirts. Most had bright yellow hair, some hand foam on their noses.

"Georgie!" The older women of the bunch cried. She ran to the car and hugged him. She then stepped to King and hugged him with a thank you for bringing our son home squeeze. The two walked over to the rest of the family and each of the grown children hugged their father.

Georgie sat in the car, absorbing everything. One by one his brothers and sisters walked back into the trailer, followed at last by his father.

His mother stood a few steps away from the trailer and called out. "Won't you come home Georgie?"

Georgie stared at his mother, strange he'd never thought he'd say that word. He nodded and his handcuffs disappeared. He jumped off the car, ran to her, hugged her, and they both retreated into the trailer.

One of the most beautiful endings to a dream. I woke up with a full playlist of songs in my head that I'll be making into a Youtube playlist for tomorrow's post. But, I didn't write out my dream to gloat about a playlist. This dream was about fathers. No, I can't say that I've perfected the secret code to deciphering dreams. But, I know this dream is about fathers because of certain specific details:

1. Stephen King's On Writing is represents a father's advice to me. I read the book once, and have reread important parts a hundred times since then. Some of the advice has really shaped how I have grown into an editor and writer.

2. My family is nuts. Yes, that isn't fair to my family as they have no say in this, but trust me, we all have our crazy sides and more often than not our crazy sides reflect a myriad of fantasy characters from Dr Seuss to Lord of the Rings.
3. The survivor backpack is a reflection of some of my siblings favorite drinks when we are on the run. Naturally, we wouldn't be on the run and we would be drinking Dr. Pepper. But, ever since that day when we were hiding from something that we don't talk about to each other, I usually just pack water and/or sugary drinks on our adventures.
4. I'm Georgie. In many ways, but for this example, I'm the kid that never really was around. Yes, I took responsibility for a lot of things, but I'm also the one that just goes away. Mostly into a very foggy creative land.


Let me finish this rambling circle. I had a nagging feeling the other day that parents should always remain parents for their children. Mainly, because I never really had a parent the way that Georgie in my dream has at the end. Secondly, because I believe that parents are really important. Thirdly, today is Father's Day. All together combined, I thought over several things I could write about fathers or my father. But, I don't have anything that won't make me sad or pensive. Just this dream.

What do you have?

1 comment:

  1. I wish my dreams were this vivid and interesting. Mine are snippets of boring stuff... I think. Hmmm... I don't remember. I might have to start a dream journal. hehe

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