I asked Lynette if she thought James would grow up to say the funniest person he ever met was his dad. (I don't do this many dancing jigs and kooky sound effects for just any one!) It's an unusual day when I can't get a laugh out of my son. Sadly, it makes me think of my late father, Jerry Carlock. My feelings for Jerry are complex, complicated, and confusing. It's an old, tired story shared by gobs of people on this planet: My parents divorced before I was born and my father was hardly a part of my life. However, on the rare occasions I spent time with him I can say with 100% confidence that Jerry was the funniest man I ever knew. Jerry was loved and admired by everyone. For obvious reasons, this saddens me and scares me, because I want to be just like him and nothing like him. Excuse the harsh language, but divorce is a motherfucker.
That's all I want to say about that.
Anyway, I don't want to get too over-dramatic about my daddy issues. In 2003, my father got cancer and I made a special journey to his home in the backwoods of southeastern Pennsylvania to see him one last time. We sat on a porch listening to bugs and critters in the night when I forgave my father (as we all should) and a few weeks later he died. But even when Jerry was but a shell of man he was still making me laugh.
I've posted this before because it's very powerful for me:
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