Written by: Alex Sandell
About seven years ago, when my grandfather was still alive, my family took him out to dinner. My mom, dad, brother, other brother, and mother were there. During my first bite of this horrid "all you can eat" Shrimp special (this was before the politically correct "all you care to eat" days), I observed how much my dad looked like my grandpa. As I sucked a buttery, garlic-coated shrimp down my throat, I wondered how much I looked like my dad.
Three separate generations all eating dead things that came from the ocean. Now one of them is dead, himself. Arguably, my favorite one. Is he in some sort of Heaven, or are maggots sucking off him? Nature's way. La-di-da. Take away your loved ones and have a grand ol' feast. It's just the way of things, I guess.
What a shitty concept.
Whoever directed this motion-picture called "The Food Chain" should be shot right in the head. It needs a lot less death, a happier ending, and the grand extinction of maggots. I'm sick of maggots eating my grandpa. It's kind of annoying. Who started this? Let's slit his throat - make it a happy ending.
Killing God. What a concept.
I wonder if he'd bleed?
Still, God is beside the point. My grandpa is what this is all about.
Before he died, he was (and, I guess, still is) the best friend I ever had. He taught me things. He made me laugh. I identified with him. You have to skip a generation to make a "best" friend. Or so I've learned throughout my useless existence (is any human life really useful?).
He was a mentor. He was a "pal." He has caused me to shed more tears over the past 6 years than anyone else. Stupid dead guy.
He spoke to me about my great-grandparents. I never met them. Back then, life expectancy was like 17, or something. He looked up to them like I looked up to him. This got me wondering . . . when does the admiration end?
When do we stop caring? Because we do stop caring. We don't care about terrorists, obviously. We don't care about the innocent "strangers" killed when we drop a bomb to stop Bill Clinton's lame affair.
How far back is it when these "strangers" aren't family anymore? My grandfather's grandfather? Is that the great "I don't give a damn about you" moment in time? What about a nun's great-great-great grandparent? The one who was going to the bathroom to "wash her pussy" out before she fucked a "customer?"
Is it an action that ends the family ties? Is it the nun who disowned her slutty relative that starts the wheels turning? Who pulls us apart? Who is cruel enough?
Is it a politician trying to hide his illegitimate son? Is it a movie star wanting to appear single? Is it a single person wanting to feel loved?
Who fucks us up?
Someone does. Bill Clinton wouldn't drop a bomb on his grandfather. Some gang member wouldn't stab his own brother. Somewhere, we forget we're a family.
Politics and embarrassment take the place of consideration and a good heart. We don't want to remember that at some point we all have been related. Life is incest, your husband's your brother.
Sends a chill up your spine, doesn't it?
It's how things work. Until we face this reality, we can keep bombing foreign countries. We can keep walking over bums in the street. The rich can ignore the poor. The poor can resent the rich.
Nothing will change until we realize my dad looks like my grandpa and I look a lot like my dad.
©1998 Alex Sandell [All Rights Reserved] Use this without permission and I'll turn into even more of a hippie and paste "smiley" faces, peace signs and "lost-footage" from "Woodstock" all over my page.
Back to the table of brains 1998
Back to the mind-map.