Some people in my position might take this opportunity to write about something innocent and oh so cute and it has an ending that is equally innocent, and equally cute. Not that I care, but that's hopeless. There's nothing of value to be learned by a whitewash lifestyle. Others in my position may take this opportunity to write about something that is absolutely horrible and despicable, but all of a sudden they'll perk up and give you a 180-degree ending. What for? That does absolutely nothing but offer you an alkaseltzer so you can go back to your life feeling normal. That's doesn't accomplish anything, except tell you that the After School Special lives on. Unfortunately, for any of you that may like tht kind of stuff, this story doesn't embody any of those above listed traits, but it will pump you with ounce after ounce of bad taste so that you can walk away knowing that you realized something about humanity, and not something like how exciting a first kiss can be after much anticipation.

For the longest time, I had idolized my father. I shouldn't have but I did, and looking back I was a fool to have done so. For the first couple of years after he seperated from my mother, he would call me routinely and offer to take me someplace over the weekend, but he would never materialize. Time and time again, I would wait for him at the door, and time after time, he would never show up. He would never call to apologize or to offer an explanation as to why he didn't show up, he would just call again and it would be deja vu all over again. If he would have offered an excuse, I would have believed him, even if it was absolutely the dumbest excuse someone had ever given.

After a while, I stopped playing the stupid little puppy dog, and just stopped believing him. Gradually, he would figured out that his game was no longer working, and just faded out of my life like he had done so many times before. In some ways, I was happy, because I knew that I wouldn't have to worry about swallowing his spoonful of bullshit, but at the same time, I missed him even more than when he would tease me with a guest appearance in my life. After all, this was the man who was supposed to be my role model.

Every now and then, he would drift into my life for a meal, stolen gifts (for my brother and me), and a one-night-stand with my mother and just walk off llike he was the Bill Bixby character from the Incredible Hulk. I hated even more for stuff like that, because it was as if he was offering a chance to be a family again, and as soon as someone would try to take the bait, he was gone. On numerous occasions, he would tell me that "I'm going to the store" bullshit, and just walk off. When his hormones got the best of him again, once again it was deja vu.

It begins...

The meat of this miseruy occured over the phone under regretful circumstances. I don't really remember exactly how old I was, but it was not long after the Augusta area code was changed from "404" to "706," because the uncomfortable silence that arose produced a conversation on the topic. For a couple of years my mother tried to get in contact with my father, but had no number, until his curent wife called and gave it to her. They talked a few times, but that really did nothing for me, because I felt that I had to talk to him, and not to some stupid idiot

who was one in a line of mistakes made by this man who had cursed my life with his random presence. It wasn't a problem with anyone that I call him, except I knew that this manwa perhaps the only person who had absolute control over my life.

After a few months of conjuring up the nerve, I finally had the guts to call him. OUt of all that happened then, I remember only two things: it was a Sunday night, and the conversation itself. In my head, I had the entire thing planned. I would call him up and we would either

argue, or it would be as if he had never been my villain. At the risk of possibly disclosing the ending, my timing had been completely off.

For over ten minutes, I called his number and got only a busy signal. It was truly an uncomfortable wait. I remember that I sat on the floor next to my mother, hoping that he would just pick up so I could instantly jump into the conversation without talking to his wifeor anyone

else in his "current" family. Finally, I got a ring, which meant that chances are someone would answer the phone and the wait was soon to be over. Actually, the wait lasted a little bit longer, because it was a while before anyone picked up. I didn't wait for ten rings and hang up, like I had been told to do since kindergarten, I waited much longer, because I knew that if I hung up then, I'd probably never call him back again. So, after twenty rings, someone picked up.

"Hello," someone answered. It sounded like a boy no older than my brother.

"Hello, may I speak to Ben?" His name was Benjamin, but no one ever called him that. I had other names for him, but the person on the other line would probably hang up.

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Yes, this is Paul."

"Hold on."

"Okay."

"Paul?" This time it was a woman's voice. It may have been Joann, then she knew who I was, because she had talke to my mother a couple of times before this, and she knew about my brother and me despite the efforts of my father to prove that I didn't exist.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, but he's not home right now." I assumed it was Joanne. She didn't sound like I thought she would sound like. In fact, she sounded like she may even have an ounce of intelligence. Of course, that was an unfair assumption, because she probably didn't know that at

that very moment my father could be finishing up a quickie with some whore he had just picked up.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"You may want to call at around ten-thirty. He should be off of work by then."

"Okay, thank you."

"You're welcome." In spite of my efforts to see her as a "homewrecking bitch," she was coming off as a really nice person, but I was still vehemently opposed to her as well as to the existance of this not-so-new family he had been keeping in the closet.

"Goodbye." I hung up.

It was kind of rude, but I was tired of hearing her. I would try again at ten-thirty, which was only about forty-five minutes away. Normally, I went to bed at ten o'clock, but I figured that this was as good a reason as any to stay up late. Unfortunately, the wait proved to be much longer than just a wait. I wouldn't say an eternity, but it was somewhere up there. It was as if I wa awaiting a jury decision for a crime I hadn't commited, but I may be convicted for it anyway... I suppose that could bore you with the events that occupied my long forty-five minutes, but that would take even longer.

It continues...

Once again, the phone went through the usual ritual of busy signals and then teasing me with the long series of rings. To tell you the truth, the agony was killing me. It seemed as if there was something inside of me that wasn't there the last time, and it was telling me I'd

be able to speak with the bastard if it was the last thing I ever did. That presence was strong inside of me up until the phone was answered, and once I heard a voice, it was gone.

"Hello," It was the same person that answered before.

"May I speak to Ben?" The force had suddenly turned to butterflies, not to mention I felt the sudden urge to use the toilet.

"Hold on." there was a commotion in the background, and I heard somebody yell "Daddy!"

After a while, someone answered the phone again. "Hello." It was a man's voice this time, and I knew exactly who it was.

"You may not recognize me," I tried to sound as mature as possible so that he could hear how his eldest son had grown up."but this is Paul."

"Who?" He didn't recognize me. I wasn't exactly sure if that was good or bad, but it wasn't making me feel any better.

"This is Paul." I said it over, resorting to my normal voice of a scared child unsure of his present mistake.

"Paul?" My mother had told m how he had disowned my brother and me one time when he had called, but not until then did I ever believe her. When I heard him repat my name, it was as if he was trying to disown me in front of his stupid wife and those illegitamate children of his.

There was a bit of a silence, but finally did gather up all of my wits so that I could respond. "Yes" was all I could say.

There was another silence, but this one was far more uncomfortable than the previous, and it haunts me every time I'm on the phone with nothing to say... Thinking about it now, I guess that I would have to say that that was what drove me to strike up conversation. It wasn't much of a conversation, really. In fact, that entire conversation made it seem more like we were more like strangers than father and son. It was really disturbing, because I couldn't look beyond the fact that I kept thinking it was all my fault we were having such a lousy conversation. I suppose that I could have stopped the whole thing right there and just hung up on him, but he was still my father and he still had that magical hold over me tht he had always had. I was just his sad little puppy dog waiting at the gate for his master.

It wasn't much of a conversation. We just spoke as if we were two acquaintances from high school who had just happened to cross eachother. There were many times throughout the conversation where I just wanted to stop the entire thing, but I kept on talking to him, because I could never figure out how to say goodbye to him. There were many times when I wanted to say "I love you," but it had been so long since I had said it to him (or anyone else for that matter), that I forgot how it was supposed to sound. Instead of saying "I love you" and "goodbye," all I could do was talk to him about the flag controversy and the new area code changes. It was pathetic.