A Birthday Competition
by Derek Alger
Issue No. 201 ~ February, 2014
While in the military service, my father was stationed at Army Letterman Hospital in San Francisco, where both my younger sister and I were born, a year apart.
While in the military service, my father was stationed at Army Letterman Hospital in San Francisco, where both my younger sister and I were born, a year apart.
The video experience was unexpected, the actors who were supposed to play the children in the family in the group therapy session were on strike and my father was in a panic.
So, my father went to medical school, and worked as a magician on the side, which I’m sure he’d had an interest in since childhood, and to top off the act, he became a psychiatrist.
I have never been a great proponent, nor participant, of doing things for the sake of doing things under the guise that such activity is something other than it really is, and for me, at least, usually means killing time while convincing oneself whatever one happens to be doing is beneficial.
Lying sprawled on the floor between a bench and the lockers, I felt more embarrassed than anything, but instantly could see I wasn't going to ever receive any useful information from Coach Peck.
Events were out of my control. All I could do was keep swimming, and eventually, I would come up to the rocks on the shore by the cabin at Rocky Point.
A few days before my mother died, she said to me in a hoarse whisper, with sad resignation, "I don't trust, Dad," and unfortunately, she was right.
I told customer service guy there shouldn't be a problem, to which, he replied, "I'm sorry, sir, payment is being denied on your card."
I could see my side of the car was going to smash right into a telephone pole.
I do know that when I was a young child, my father was the closest I ever came to believing in a Godlike figure. The power of psychiatry was much more powerful than Christianity could ever be for me.