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dad: some serious generation gap II

One day I was making a mix tape for a friend at work, and I had just left the stereo running. I was about to leave for the evening, and had considered mentioning it to my dad not to touch the stereo, but decided he probably wouldn't anyway.

Sure enough though, when I got back later, it had been turned off. I really gave him hell about it...like how dare he touch my electronic equipment and all. In retrospect I realize what a complete bastard I was, and finally he got sick of it and said to me, "You're getting mad at me over the fucking hi-fi? The hi-fi?"

I was so amused that he was calling my 'boom-box' a 'hi-fi' that I was instantly less mad. In fact, I could hardly keep from laughing everytime he said 'hi-fi'.

One time I remember I got fed up with all the piles (I think they were encroaching on my little spot of floor). I asked him if he couldn't perhaps clip the articles and file them in some way. I pointed out how difficult it made it to live in the apartment, especially for me who had no home base there. He agreed that this was a good idea and that he had, in fact, been meaning to do so, but never got around to it.

Amazing, I thought, my superior logic and spatial skills had finally gotten through to him! Things were gonna change right there for us. Space in the apartment...who knew what could be next.

I left in the morning as he was starting on a juicy pile of newspapers about a foot high. I left satisfied as he picked up one paper and looked for the marked article. About 8 hours or so I returned home, hoping to see a profound improvement in the apartment.

There he was, sitting in the exact same place he was when I left, working on the exact same pile, with a "done" stack of about 4 inches and a "discarded" stack of about 2 inches. He had a newspaper in his hand and he was chuckling brightly about the newest in the wealth of articles he had just re-discovered supporting his theory that, "Anything is possible."

I sighed. Maybe he remembers differently but I don't even think I had the heart to give him much of a hard time over it.


Wow, that is just so much like my friend Jim. Every closet and available space in his home is crammed with books, art, and piles of the oddest junk I' ve ever seeen. And he really "can't" part with it. He'd make a major effort once in a while, organize it somewhat, pack it all in a little better, but the accumulation never ceases... How long did you live in the midst of that clutter?