Things the Grandchildren Should Know

I was a fourth grader who escaped through Luke Skywalker. I wasn’t even aware of what I was trying to evade. When my siblings and I were in bed at night, we would jump on the mattress, and shout Star Wars one-liners until my father would barge in our room with a belt strap in his hands, threatening to give us the beating of our young lives. They were just empty threats, most of the times.  On the rare occasions where the leather would spank our buttocks, he would cry and apologize.

I imagined him wearing a cape and a helmet, I could hear him breathe hard through his mask; he was a Sith, and I feared my father the way Luke feared Darth Vader. If I ever had kids, I would never be like him.

“I’m turning out just like my father
Though I swore i never would”

I grew up running away from fatherhood. I lived a life of debauchery, detached from responsibility. Whereas a kid I lived vicariously through Luke Skywalker, as an adult, I channeled Han Solo. I charmed women and men with my debonair attitude. If a woman would share my bed, there would be no tomorrow, and there would be no children. Ever. Being Han Solo meant I wasn’t the son of a dark lord, a man I didn’t want to love.

Throughout my life, I would run away from him, from his legacy. If there was something I knew—something I didn’t want to admit—it was the power of the Dark Side. I was familiar with passion and violence, and easily lost my temper. I indulged into fights, I enjoyed taking a beating as much as I enjoyed connecting my fist on my adversary’s face. Feeling the bruises on my knuckles after a fight was exhilarating. There was so much rage, and the best way to protect children from my anger was to never have kids.

“Now I can say that I have a love for him”

As a kid, when my father lashed out at us, verbally or physically, I never understood how he could suddenly turn around and hold us tight, crying and asking for forgiveness.  As a kid, once his wrath had fallen upon us, I couldn’t suddenly switch my emotions from “I hate you so very, very much” to “you are the best dad in the world.”

As a kid, we weren’t told about his past and his childhood. We were sheltered from the horrors of his life, from living in poverty and being a victim of sexual assault. We were protected from the ugly truth, which in return didn’t protect us from him.

“I never really understood
What it must have been like for him
Living inside his head”

In my thirties, the drinking and the drugs and the darkness took the best of me. I sought professional help. I lied to my first therapists, and got away with it. I met a woman, we were careless, and a child was born. I couldn’t run away from this. I found a new therapist who saw through my lies. We spoke about my father, his and my violence, his and my poverty. We spoke about the good man who lost his ways, the man who succumbed to the Dark Side. And we spoke about me, his son, his legacy, and how I was now breathing through the same mask he once wore, the one I rejected, the one I feared, the one I swore I would never hide behind. My therapist spoke my language, and I will never forget these words, “You’re no longer Luke or Han Solo: you’ve become Darth Vader. You are your own enemy.”

“I feel like he’s here with me now
Even though he’s dead”

There will be a day when I will tell my kids about their grandfather. They will be told the story as I remember it. There will be a time when I will tell them about their own father, before he was a father. They will be told my story, the one I do not want to forget—it wasn’t an easy childhood, but it was my childhood.  We are not necessarily condemned to an existence as nothing more than the product of our upbringing.  We are more than the sum of our parents’ parts. But understanding where you started is essential in knowing where to go next.

* Title and excerpts are from the song Things the Grandchildren Should Know, by Eels.
** Featured image: “One Day Son” by Slinkachu.

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128 responses to “Things the Grandchildren Should Know

  1. This was written in a language I completely understand. I also completely agree– knowing where you started, and where you want to go, are the most important aspects of charting a journey, but discovering those things is never an easy road. None of us get to be Hans Solo or Jedi all the time, but then, none of us are sith lords all the time either. We do the best we can, and realizing that our parents did the same– well, that’s a wonderful gift. I’m glad you’ve had that gift, I’m glad you know your journey, and I’m glad you’re so gracious as to share that journey with others. Hugs to you.

    Like

    • Rara,
      Thanks for dropping by on Janice’s new blog!

      I love that you speak Star Wars, and that you can write such an insightful comment using analogies from a universe I love.
      Le Clown

      Like

  2. On the few occasions I screamed at one of my sweet little daughters, the anger I was feeling was grossly out of proportion with the minor offense committed. I always felt like a hideous beast immediately after my anger subsided. The memory of that feeling goes a long way towards keeping my anger in check. The apple never falls far from the tree, does it?

    My daughters are 12 and 7 and between us, not one word has been spoken about my father. Not one. Ever.

    Like

    • Mark,
      I understand the feeling, about feeling remorseful, and keeping your emotions in check.
      We do speak about my dad now, not in Star Wars allegories, but as the man he was, his depression, and even his suicide. It wasn’t a first easy discussion, but it was rewarding, ultimately.
      Le Clown

      Like

      • My 7-year old has always been more inquisitive and bold than my 12-year old. After I published my comment, I remembered that just last month, out of nowhere, she asked what my father did for a living. “He was a meat cutter. He worked in a butcher shop.” She’s the same one who asked why I don’t go to church with them on Sunday morning and wanted to know what college I went to. I told her I didn’t go to college. “Why not, daddy? Didn’t you want to go to school…?”

        Like

      • Mark,
        I have only read two posts of yours… And liked both. Have you ever written about your dad?
        Le Clown

        Like

      • No, sir, I have not. That well is dry.

        Two? Listen…you care about art, right? I put up a post last night about the contemporary art market. Click over and have your mind blown. It’s more interesting that anything I could cook up about my father.

        Like

  3. This is beautiful, and it speaks to something my mom has always called “breaking the cycle.” That’s the idea that all it takes is one generation to own up to a history of shortfalls, stare it down, and thereby gain the tools necessary to raise the next generation to be mentally and emotionally healthier than the preceding one. It takes a tremendous amount of both strength and vulnerability, and you’ve managed to show that here.

    Lol, and now that I think about it, that’s one of the themes of Star Wars as well. Sometimes I think we’re smarter as children, somewhere along the way we get dumber, then we (hopefully) come out the other side and wise up again.

    Like

    • April,
      I like that idea. I continued writing this post, after it was done with (I usually know where it should end, and often keep on writing until the final edit), it was about the legacy I was now leaving my own kids, about how the new generation of this family will have stories about my father and myself, but how their own stories will be rooted in love and security. But that will be for another post.
      Le Clown

      Like

      • To me Le Clown that is the ultimate gift a parent can give their children. It is the difference between “well they did the best they could” (your father, my parents) and stepping up and going beyond ‘your best’, creating a new best, so to speak. Your post and this comment has my mind pinging. Thank you so much.

        Like

    • While I know of ‘braking the cycle”, the idea of “… all it takes is one generation to own up to a history of shortfalls, stare it down, and thereby gain the tools necessary to raise the next generation to be mentally and emotionally healthier than the preceding one.” somehow shows it in a new light, one that moved me profoundly. Thank you.

      Like

  4. I grew up trying to guess what my parents would think or do next but it was still a shock to me when I found myself acting just as erratically with my own kids. What I feel deeply with your post is how complicated it is, how our relationships impact us in ways that we don’t want. But we also have a choice to do the hard work of doing things differently. I think having a bigger picture of my parents’ struggles would’ve helped me understand my own better. It’s definitely tricky to decide how much and when to tell my kids but I know I will.

    Like

    • Karen,
      We get a clearer picture of our parents the older we get, don’t we? As kids, even when they act in less than stellar ways, they remain our heroes, our protectors, and we almost (and I put the emphasis on almost) justify all of their screw-up behaviours… For me, going back to their roots was the first step into seeing them as for who they were: not just parents, but human beings with their own baggage and stories…
      Le Clown

      Like

  5. You have fought with great determination to break the cycle and I truly believe you have won the battle. My unwanted lack of children has always left we wondering if I would have been able to do same. Perhaps it is best I don’t know. As always Sir Le Clown you humble me with your magnificence™.

    Like

    • Michelle,
      I am confident that my parenting is rooted in love, patience, and understanding. I knew once I had a child that I needed to change, that I needed to seek help, that I had to start tackling the anger… One of the best things I have done. That, and the coffee this morning.
      Le Clown

      Like

  6. My family never talked of ‘mental illness’ – if you didn’t talk about it; it didn’t exist. So much of our family’s problems would have been better served with more honesty about the underpinnings instead of just ignoring it to pretend it wasn’t there. I don’t allow that in my life – when I was breaking apart inside, I RAN for help because I knew I could not live my life feeling that way – and was disheartened when people in my family were worried that I’d ‘blame them’ or ‘how they would look’ to my therapist. That was the knife that cut the deepest. Keep it all inside and hidden was the family motto. It serves for naught. Great post – as always.

    Like

    • Denise,
      Same thing here: no one talked about mental health issues when I was a kid. There was a pharmacy with a shitload of prescription bottles in it, I couldn’t understand the pharmaceutical name of the medication, and we didn’t have Google back then… I was told these pills were for my father’s back… It is an extremely strong thing you have done for your kids (and yourself) to seek professional help when you felt it was necessary.
      Le Clown

      Like

      • I don’t know how people can carry a lot of stuff inside them all the time. I can’t imagine – there are some things so awful that we deal with, that it takes more than ourselves to work through it.

        Keeping things hidden is such a generational thing – at least we’ve (as a society) have moved beyond that and are able to discuss and write about some of these very scary and personal things.

        Like

  7. Wow, Eric….Le Clown, you’ve outdone yourself here. Well written….precise, honest, clean….and simply stated in your eloquent genuine way. You brought tears to this old gal. My mom was similar to your father….and she would crash down on us and then turn on a dime and say, “Let’s just forget about it”. And I would wonder, as you did, just how in the hell I was supposed to switch gears so fast. I told a friend recently, “In my family, love and hate/violence/dishonesty was so intertwined that to this day, I don’t feel comfortable in a relationship unless I’m being loved and fucked over at the same time!” But, like you, I strive to be better….and I am. As are you. We are NOT our parents! I am so proud to know you, and sometimes, if your ears are ringing, it’s because I am singing your praises! Be well, and thanks for the wonderful sharing of yourself. Also, yes, I’ve joined this new blog and I thank you for that too! xoxoJulia

    Like

    • Julia,
      Thank you for all these wonderful words. That sentence, ” we are not our parents,” is one I had to rewire my brain to believe. I was never going to have kids, as I wouldn’t add to my screwed-up genealogy. Then therapy, then learning about my father, his story, and finding love for him, and forgiveness, all crucial steps in coming to the conclusion that “I am not my father.”

      And you, Julia, so much honesty about your own struggles. Wishing you a loving a safe road.
      Le Clown

      Like

      • It’s people like you, that I meet along the way, that really help to make life a meaningful and a hopeful journey. You do good, my friend, and your acute awareness will keep you from being anything but who you are; your own person, an individual who has chosen to do the work and be better. Chant those words to yourself…”I am not my father” as often as you need to. We all already know that. We’ve seen your heart. You are so generous to show it to us….along with all of your scars. Thanks for gifting me something beautiful today….your words. My love to you and those you cherish. xoJulia

        Like

  8. Although my situation with my parents is very different, I can very much relate to being terrified of having children. My home growing up wasn’t the most emotionally nurturing and although I hate to be cliche, I have quite a few issues stemming from my mother. And she has issues stemming from growing up with an undiagnosed Bipolar immigrant mother who was trying to raise 5 children by herself in a foreign country. I don’t know how to be a good parent and am terrified of doing the emotional damage to my kids that my own mother inflicted on me.
    That being said, you’re making every effort to be better for the sake of your daughter and that’s an incredibly admirable thing.
    Ash

    Like

    • Ash,
      Thanks for coming over, I appreciate this.
      Clichés stem from reality, don’t they? I have daddy issues myself, and it is how it is.
      I didn’t know you had kids… How many?
      Le Clown

      Like

      • Le Clown,
        You’re welcome! Another fantastically honest post.

        I’m terrified of having children and screwing up those potential future kids. Just read that back to myself and it was a bit confusing. It was a big step for me to get a cat as I can barely keep a house plant alive.

        Ash

        Like

    • Michelle,
      Thank you. And you know, even when we walk parallel to them, on a road our parents have taken, life isn’t that bad… It gets easier with the years to choose the more positive roads to tag along with our folks.
      Le Clown

      Like

  9. Your children will do well by your accountability. Being open to your humanness means the lessons will not stop with you, as they did with your own father. Whether they learn them is their choice, but you are giving them the tools they need to make decisions with awareness, and as parents, that’s a damn good thing to be able to do.

    Like

  10. Le Clown,
    Wonderful post. You are making conscious decisions to make different choices than your father and to understand your past. I understand my parents better now that I am a parent, their shortcomings and how hard things must have been for them. You are so aware of what’s come before, your kids will benefit from that. And that you are a loving, caring dad who only wants the best for them. Your strength will see you through.
    Amy

    Like

  11. You know I get this, mon ami. My dad had a very similar experience to your dad. I’m so proud of my father for what he became, despite his upbringing—or maybe because of it. And I’m so proud of you too. Dickwad.

    Like

  12. Le Clown,
    Your words strum a familiar riff coming from the guitar in my head. Our stories are different but pieces of the tune are samples from another era, inspiring emotion and head-nodding.
    Beautiful.
    Red

    Like

  13. Le Clown

    My father had some of these same tendencies – that quick turn from rage to love always confused me – I grew up thinking “I love you” was an apology. I’m grateful that my dad came out on the other side and was a tremendous grandfather. It’s something I have wondered about his father too – he was simply the finest man I ever knew, but I heard wishers of his drunken days as a father. The idea gives me hope that real change happens – that we can step outside of the shadow of that dark side onto a path of our own choosing – to be a better version of ourselves. Your insights walking through are brave – they take honest assessment. Great post, my friend.

    L’Artsi

    Like

    • L’Artsi,
      I did think about you and your father when I wrote this one, as I remember we have exchanged a few comments on the topic. It was inspiring, it did help me reveal more about what was my childhood… For that, I thank you.
      Le Clown

      Like

  14. Perspective is everything, and perspective is shaped by our knowledge of people/situations/things. I secretly hated my parents growing up, and thought they were awful people whose mission in life was to create a miserable household. Now, knowing what I know about their childhoods, their mental health, my grandparents’ childhoods, and their mental health, I see now that everyone was honestly doing the best they could with what they were given. I wish I had known a lot of that information sooner.

    I love that you’ve chosen to break the cycle by being honest with your kids.

    Like

    • Jen,
      We do the best that we can with the knowledge and the emotional intelligence we have as kids, to survive, even if it’s to nestle in hate until the storm passes… We are well made that way…
      Le Clown

      Like

      • Looking at my nephew, I realize how strong and resilient children are. I also see how we can trust them with more information that we think they can handle. Everything in due time, of course, but honesty goes a long way with kids.

        Your kids are lucky to have you and Sara in their lives.

        Like

  15. Obi Wan Clownobee,

    “We are not necessarily condemned to an existence as nothing more than the product of our upbringing. We are more than the sum of our parents’ parts. But understanding where you started is essential in knowing where to go next.”…… Beautifully said.
    Great piece, my friend.

    Like

  16. Piggybacking on yesterday, this is a truly authentic, and movingly real pice of writing. There are so many sides of Le Clown that interest me, but this is the side that always moves me most. Wonderful writing, friend! As my kids have grown up, it has been a real balancing act, figuring out what to tell them and what to leave a mystery. As a kid, I was spared nothing and it was scarring, to say the least. To date, I think I’ve found a healthy balance in letting them know who I am, was, might have been… and who their grandparents were, outside of the relationships they had together. An aside: Star Wars definitely was my escape from it all too… and still gives me thrills, each time I watch it. Something I have shared with my kids. They are better at one liners than I will ever be.

    Like

  17. Le Clown,
    I never wanted to have children, because of the tragic mess that is my family. Then, it happened. The Boy Who Lives In My House. He’s 10. He’s annoying the fuck out of me as I write – making unbearable grunts that have to do with Minecraft. I shall unplug him shortly.

    Although I am not my mother, who screamed and beat us constantly because she was a widow with 6 children, I’m still making a hot mess of motherhood. I am devoted, hilarious and fun, and at the same time, scream and lose it with my kid frequently. He is brilliant and difficult and is 6 children in one. I fear constantly that I am damaging him, when really all I want is to expose him to enough dysfunction to make him funny.

    Because of you, I am starting a new blog. Not one for my students, but one for ME. I’m sure Le Clown has people tell him they are L’Inspired by him all the time, but certainly it can’t get old? When I do start Le Blog Nouvelle, I’ll drop by here for some coffee. Since motherhood, the only addiction I get to maintain is caffeine.

    Like

    • SAT Girl,
      How do you drink your coffee? And will you let me know when that new blog will be up? I don’t read fellow bloggers posts much, but I’d read one or two if you ever want to share a few links…
      Le Clown

      Like

  18. When my eating disorder and depression got to a point where they couldn’t be ignored anymore and my parents actually got a tad worried (after 8 years of holding their eyes and ears tightly shut to all signs of my helplessness), they decided that they really wanted to help me. I told them over and over and over and over and over again that the only thing they could do to help me, was to go se a therapist for themselves. I told them explicitly, in writing, I shouted at them, threatened them, went all mild and understanding on them, begged them, tried to make a lighthearted joke out of it… short of offering them money, I tried everything. You think those smug, inhibited doctor types ever went? And now I see the all of my siblings struggle with their emotional heritage while sticking with the family tradition of refusing to seek help. There’s nothing more frustrating in my life (that being a sign of my general privilege) than the people I love who refuse to even consider seeing a therapist. I think I took already 3 different approaches to explaining why it’s so fucking crucial to reflect upon your life through the eyes of others on my blog, but I don’t think anyone has taken that stuff personally so far. Ugh. Frustrating. So, GO YOU! Unfortunately, one can’t take it for granted that people enter parenthood with the same amount of self-reflection as you did. I raise my coffee cup to you! You’re making an effort to be the best version of yourself and that’s all a daughter could ever ask for.

    Like

  19. This was an extremely moving piece. I agree, it is the hardest thing to break those deep bonds that hold us tight. It is also often really hard to see clearly enough to really recognise where we start and to see where we are going.

    Like

  20. Clown

    I can relate, perhaps too closely to feel the comfort of what you & I share from our pasts…but our futures, now there is a thing of beauty, my friend!

    In my journey for answers I spent years studying and working with broken people, as a broken person. They say it takes 3 generations to enact lasting change and so I look at my 3 boys, see the potential to start from a healthier place than I and have deliberately set about equipping them with what they will need to teach their boys…maybe, if I’m fortunate, I will live to see what that “better place” can look like.

    Another heart-felt and gut-wrenching piece from the mind behind the clown, well done, Sir.

    Respect REDdog

    Like

  21. It is tough to manage the legacy of parenting gone horribly awry. I feel sorry for many of our parents generation; they didn’t have the tools or the cultural acceptance to heal. and now it’s our job to do the work for them and offload the family burden. Or some analogy with light sabers. At any rate, this was a good post and you are a good dad.

    Like

    • RG,
      No tools, and they were encouraged to stay silent, and accept their roles as good married Christians. I’m with you on that.
      Le Clown

      Like

    • Lynette,
      Exactly! It was my Dark Side Cave moment on Dagobah!

      “That place… is strong with the dark side of the Force. A domain of evil it is. In you must go.”
      “What’s in there?”
      “Only what you take with you.”

      Le Clown

      Like

  22. Eric,
    Isn’t it ironic, and sad, how we internally become our own worst enemy? I know you, and I am proud of you. There is no doubt that you have become an amazing father and husband, one who has endlessly fought the good fight in regards to your children, and family’s best interests. To me, you’re Princess Leia.
    Love,
    Tracy

    Like

  23. Le Clown –

    Sorry for showing up late to the party, but I’ve fallen a bit behind on my reading as of late….

    The entire post was simultaneously heartbreaking and cathartic. I’m sure most parents can relate, even the ones without a family history of mental illness and/or violence. We all have parts of our parents (mentally, physically, emotionally, etc.) that we pray we didn’t inherit, and those are often the ones that show up for a surprise visit one day, like an unexpected and unwanted houseguest – that NEVER leaves. Then we’re faced with a decision – do we fight the ghosts from our past or do we allow them to keep haunting us? I’m so glad you decided to do battle, my friend. I couldn’t be prouder of you.

    After reading this line – “…I was now breathing through the same mask he once wore, the one I rejected, the one I feared, the one I swore I would never hide behind…” I broke out in head-to-toe goosebumps. It resonated with me on a very intimate level. The past couple of months, I’ve been fighting a few Darth Vader battles of my own, and I can only hope that I come out as victorious as you.

    XO
    Linda

    Like

    • Linda,
      I’m sorry you are going through a challenging patch. I have a friend of mine who wrote a lovely post on The Outlier Collective, on legalizing marijuana. I also hear pot can be beneficial in moments of stress…
      Le Clown

      Like

      • Le Clown –

        Your friend (who, by the way, sounds AWESOME) is absolutely correct – pot can be beneficial in times of stress…. and don’t think I haven’t tried out that particular coping mechanism recently…. a few times. But here’s my problem with it – I’m self medicating to cover up an underlying issue, and as we both know, that’s never a solution.

        I always turned to pot because it was often the sprinkles on the sundae of a fun night with friends – it made an already good time even better. But these days there is no sundae, so all I’m left with is a bunch of sprinkles, which is only good when you’re high enough not to notice that there’s nothing else in the bowl. Perhaps I’ve taken this metaphor one step too far.

        Honestly, I’m kind of in uncharted territory here (for me) – I’ve dipped my toe into the BBW pool before, but never lingered here for so long. It’s unnerving…..

        Linda

        Like

      • Linda,
        I get what you are saying… You can always write me personally, even if I take ages to answer… Have you thought about consulting?
        Le Clown

        Like

  24. We often forget that parents were once children and people too. We see that they did the best they could, but it is our job to grow beyond that. We are not our parents and we have the choice not to follow in their paths, even though this is what we were shown by example. Thank you for choosing to be an example for your own children that they will not have to reject to be good people.

    Like

    • Tania,
      There is a positive legacy nonetheless: they did what they could so that we would have a roof and food, and clothing. It seems so benign, but considering where they came from, and their lives, they gave it their all. That is a something I kept with me.
      Le Clown

      Like

  25. LeClown,
    Not long ago I said something like this on facebook: The best part about growing up is realizing that your parents are people, too. I might also have added, “Even better? That we are our *own* people.” The more I learn about you, the more I respect you.
    Jessica

    Like

  26. Again, you do the hard thing; again, you succeed. I am just sorry you went through what you went through–but you eloquently tell the tale–I admire this–and your children will benefit from your experiences–and it is so true–we are more than the sum of our parents’ parts.

    Like

  27. My family history will come out in my next book – whenever I finish it – and I hope my daughter sees her grandparents for the flawed/wonderful human beings they were.
    This was another brilliant look underneath the make-up, Le Clown.
    Thank you.

    Like

  28. When you write I always seem to use your posts to examine what I think about my own life. Does that make me self centered? I love that you can do that. Make me see things differently. That posting a comment requires wandering around the room with a cup of tea and staring out the window. My Dad was a hero to us as children and a complete let down as young adults. We didn’t realize he was abandoning us, allowing Mom to raise 5 little kids in Hollywood, and what that can do to a child. But is it better to have two battling adults, screaming at each other or the peace and quiet of extreme poverty? Crazy shit. I always say I love Dad but it’s like I’m being defensive. As if I have to explain myself to the rest of the family. They all call him Poor Dad. He may have had ‘fun’ after he left, but none of us really know him very well. He tried to stay in touch. And when he finally got some money he’s really good about sharing it. He really came through when I got my cancer diagnosis. I’m typing on the computer he bought me last February. Poor Dad.

    Like

    • Laura,
      “Poor dad,” I say this about my father too, today. It took me awhile to get there, though, as for the longest time, it was more “poor us for having you as a dad.”
      Le Clown

      Like

  29. Le Clown,
    This is a beautiful post. You are correct – we are more than the sum of our parts – what a relief. I grew up with the cornerstones of an uneasy childhood also: poverty, addiction, violence. The fabulous thing about becoming an adult is we get the chance to do it differently. It’s so great to see that you are. We’re lucky to have the opportunities for therapy, books and communities of people who understand us. We learn how to take care of ourselves. In so doing, we become capable of taking care of others. We’re given the gift of breaking the cycle.
    Molly

    Like

  30. This hit so close to home for me. Not the Star Wars part – I’m too young for that and I have boobs. But the part about being more than the sum of our parents parts. That was brilliant. I’ve spent so many sleepless nights praying my mother’s bipolar away. I think we can only truly begin to humanize our parents when we become one ourselves. True for me anyway.

    Like

    • Tdawneightyone,
      Thank you… And what’s this about boobs and Star Wars? Are you trying to shatter my reality, and everything I thought I knew to be right with the world?
      Le Clown

      Like

      • Ha! Not at all. It was said with (my kind of) humor and grace. I wasn’t brought up on the Jedi religion. I loved your description of it though…even being a girl. I enjoy reading your work.

        Like

      • My dear new friend,
        Fret not, I got the tone… I answered you in Le Clown fashion…. If we become besties, you will get used to my snark.
        Le Douche Clown

        Like

      • O I see a relationship brewing. I’m pretty tired of being “fluffy” and careful with my reactions to both my own feelings and responses to other people. I am determined to let my “snark” free.

        Like

  31. Mr. Clown,
    Wow, powerful stuff. You give me the inspiration and courage to be more open and personal on my blog. Star Wars came out when I was ten, and I immediately forgot about the six-million-dollar man. Playing with those little action figures really took me to another world. On fatherhood: I’m trying very hard not to end up like your dad, so that my kids will not have to cope with that horrible legacy. Thanks for your bravery, your humble Padawan,
    William

    Like

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