On Saturday I attended the funeral of an 88 year old man who I had never met. He was a father, grandfather, great-grandfather, war hero, outdoorsman, painter, and a racist. An unrepentant racist, as far as I could tell. His equally old wife is also a racist but she will soon die as well. I was at the funeral because the dead man in question was my girlfriend's grandfather. He apparently never let my girlfriend's black father into his home or spoke to him or acknowledged the marriage and the two children it produced until the marriage ended. Interesting.
According to the people gathered in the hundred year old church in Santa Paula this man was a gentle angel. I wonder how many of them are also consumed by irrational hate.
I also went to a baby shower in Eagle Rock. Strange day, Saturday.
Peace out, bitches!
3 comments:
an end and a beginning...yes, a very perfect day.
(what's the blog title from?)
(yeah, i could look it up.)
(but i wont't.)
Yes, the dead always seem to get a good send off. Even if they're bastards. Never quite understood why it's seen as bad form to speak bad of them. The dead, I mean. Afterall, if you're a swine, you're a swine. And being dead's never going to change that.
Exactly. Dead is not the same as forgiveness. The quote is from Amadeus, which rocks me. Ha!
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