Wow. Can you believe it? A second chapter. There’s a link to the beginning of this on the side bar.

There are no shades of grey with my dad; no what if’s or maybe’s. He doesn’t rant or rave, he just says what he thinks and people listen. He’s got a deep voice like Johnny Cash and he always looks you straight in the eye when he’s talking to you. He’s also a big man, not fat really, but he just seems to occupy a lot of space. Whatever the reason, not many people contradict him.

He’s a foreman at the mill and his shifts almost always have the best safety records and they often have the highest production numbers. Every month, the shift that has the fewest injuries combined with the highest production gets a bonus, so the guys on his shift thinks he’s great. He calls them ‘his guys’ and they’re always coming over to the house asking for advice.

He’s the godfather to more kids in this town then practically anyone. Speaking of kids, he coaches Little League Baseball in the summer and one of the years I played, we went all the way to the provincial championship. We even got our picture in the newspaper. My mom kept the clipping.

I wouldn’t want you to think I just do what ever the hell he tells me to do. We argue lots. But this thing with Lynda being preggers, well after a couple of weeks he starts to make sense. He tells me that even if I don’t marry her, we’re still going to have this connection for a very long time and we should try to get along. He tells me to take her out and get to know her better. He tells me that since we’re both going to be parents to this child we should figure out how that’s going to work.

He asks me how I was planning to get started on my career as a roadie. It’s not like there’s a roadie school anywhere. Other then a local bar band I don’t even know any musicians. Then of course he had to remind me about the time I lit my buddy Dave’s car on fire putting in a car stereo. Actually we were hot knifing hash with a blow torch and ‘electrically inept’ just sounded like a better excuse.

In his mind, running away isn’t even an option. He tells me that if I run away Lynda will be on welfare and the government lawyers will chase me to the ends of the earth to collect child support. He says him and my mom will want to be able to see their grandchild and how will they be able to do that if I’m a deadbeat dad? And besides all that, the day will come when I’ll have to look that kid in the eye and explain why I wasn’t there for him. Of course my dad is looking me in the eye when he tells me that.

So I go to the restaurant and ask Lynda if she wants to go out after she finishes work. She looks at me real suspicious, like all I want is to get laid again. I must admit, I did think of that. It’s not like she could get any more pregnant. But she says OK and I pick her up just after 10 pm. She gets in my car and goes to light a cigarette. I tell her she can’t smoke in my car so she puts it back in her purse. I tell her I don’t want her to smoke while she’s pregnant. I tell her it’s my baby as well and I don’t want her to poison it. She gets pissed off and says I can’t tell her what to do and then says she wants to go home.

I stew about it for a few days and then I start to think maybe my dad’s right. Not about getting married, but about this kid being as much mine as it is hers. So I go back to the restaurant at the end of her shift. She’s sitting in the smoking section with another waitress drinking a beer. I get really pissed off and tell her she can’t drink and smoke when she’s pregnant, the baby will be all fucked up just like her sister. She tells me to go fuck myself and throws her beer at me.

My dad gets me an interview with Mr. Peters, the personnel manager at the mill. I’ve known him for years of course. I broke his kids collar bone playing flag football at a company picnic one year. Dad says I need to go through the interview process just like anyone else. The interview doesn’t start off very well. Mr. Peters comments on how much I’ve filled out since he last saw me. He says pretty soon I’ll be as big as my old man. Without even thinking about it I say, yeah, strong like ox, smart like tractor. Mr. Peters thinks I’m making fun of my dad and starts giving me a lecture. I don’t know if I should admit that I was calling myself a big dummy. So I don’t say anything. The rest of the interview goes good and I get the job. Well I’m on three months probation before I can get into the union then I get the job, but my dad says if I’m punctual, work hard and work safe I’ll get on for sure.

He says he’s proud of me, getting a real job and taking responsibility for my life. I don’t really get the connection so I tell him about my attempts with Lynda. It’s like I’m talking and he’s hearing something completely different. He starts going on about how much money I’ll be making in a couple of years and benefit packages and education funds for me and my family and pension funds- for fuck sake, I’m eighteen and he’s talking about my retirement. I try again. I tell him Lynda and I have never even been out on a date. We screwed once. She threw a beer bottle at me. He tells me about the wedding present he and my mom are going to give us. Then he tells me not to tell anyone, especially Lynda because that shouldn’t influence her decision to marry me or not.

A couple of days later I’m smoking a joint with Dave the tokin’ nip and I tell him what’s been going on with Lynda and how the grumpies are in total denial about what a head case she really is. Dave says so according to your pa, getting married because you knocked up some bitch you don’t even like is the right thing to do, but getting married to get a cool present is wrong?

It’s 1981 and even the music sucks