I just realized something today. I can write about anything I damn well please here, because this is my blog.
And when I say anything, I mean anything, because as far as I know, there isn’t supposed to be any kind of censorship over the internet.
Hah! So am I going to rant and rave like I’ve seen other bloggers do? Or maybe I am going to write in a more adult way, like maybe talk about the latest porn I’ve seen (hey… I get lonely).
Nah.
I admit I’ve been tempted to do both, but was kept in check by the fact that in case the web doesn’t collapse in on itself in a couple of decades or so, my son Ira could come across this blog.
I have no idea if he’s ever going to find out that I am his dad and that I do exist and have been thinking of him since day one (the day his mom told me her test at the doctor’s had come out positive), but just in case he does, I don’t want him to know me as a perv who writes about porn movies. Nor do I want him to visualize me as coming across like Bruno Ganz playing the male lead role in Der Untergang.
Let me see… how do I want Ira to know me, what kind of person do I want him to see me as? Definitely not as an asshole (forgive the lousy punning, I’m feeling out of sorts right now).
Ira, my son, I think I want you to know me as a man who enjoys eating vegetables, has been to both Hong Kong and Bangkok many times and loves it, can write reasonably coherent prose and poetry with depth without being ashamed of it, and can whip up a deliciously nutritious meal in less than thirty minutes.
Of course, I follow recipes attentively to achieve the last claim I made. But it’s true, Ira. If ever you meet my boss, Mr. Peterson, someday, ask him about my Vegetables With Rice, Hong Kong style. He’s eaten it over and over again, but still tells me he’ll never get tired of it.
I’m tired now, but tomorrow, I’m going to put the recipe up here.
Sounds good?
I’m sure this sounds better — someday, Ira, I am going to cook that for you also, and we are going to eat it together… and maybe, even get drunk together too.
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I am David Garcia and I wish that: I had agreed with my mom when she suggested long ago, that I convince Melinda to make our son-to-be a “Junior”.
