Friday, October 17, 2003
I don't know what your mother told you
I don't know what you've figured out
I don't know anything about you anymore
I wish you'd write me a real letter
Or call me
Or just send me a picture.
It's taken me all of this time to figure out that you don't want to.
I used to think that you couldn't, but you know that you could
if you wanted to.
Now I understand that you don't want contact.
I blame your mother for that.
You and I used to be buddies,
and had a normal, loving , father-daughter relationship.
Your mother resented that and "poisoned the well"
I'm listening to "A touch of gray", remembering how much you liked it.
You used to come into my office and stand there and sing along.
Those were innocent times which I miss so desperately.
Two Mexicans are standing behind me as I write this.
They're changing the handle on the refrigerator door
As soon as I started playing this song, they began to speak in
Rapid staccato bursts.
I don't know anything about them either.
They might hate The Grateful Dead.
It's ok if they do.........
I WILL get by, and they WILL survive.
I don't know about you.
I don't feel that I know you
It hurts to know that I'm not a part of anything
That you want to do.
We used to do so much together.
We used to have fun together.
Now, I haven't seen you in so long.
What your mother did is so wrong.
I looked at myself in the mirror the other day
And saw that I'm getting old.
I thought about my life in Cali
You won't even call me.
I thought that a time might come
When you decide to call me
And someone would tell you