I've never been able to write something about my father yet, especially after his death.
Those are the words of John Fante. I remember now the same behaviour of my gaze, the same growing feelings culminating to a moment of tacit battle.
"I will look at my father over the rim of my wine glass. I will see myself. I will know again the streak of cruelty and treachery within me by looking at my father. I will look at the hands of my father, and a turning and a grinding will go on within me, for my father still has the seeds of greatness in him, but they have been choked by the treachery and cruelty that I know - always too late - crouch in me. My father will catch the feeling in me, and in his eyes it will come out for me to look upon, and he will see the same lurking in my eyes, and we will not have strong enough chins to glare at each other, and let those two pairs of eyes collide, and kill that lurking which lies in both our eyes". (quote from the short story: Home sweet home)
Those are the words of John Fante. I remember now the same behaviour of my gaze, the same growing feelings culminating to a moment of tacit battle.
"I will look at my father over the rim of my wine glass. I will see myself. I will know again the streak of cruelty and treachery within me by looking at my father. I will look at the hands of my father, and a turning and a grinding will go on within me, for my father still has the seeds of greatness in him, but they have been choked by the treachery and cruelty that I know - always too late - crouch in me. My father will catch the feeling in me, and in his eyes it will come out for me to look upon, and he will see the same lurking in my eyes, and we will not have strong enough chins to glare at each other, and let those two pairs of eyes collide, and kill that lurking which lies in both our eyes". (quote from the short story: Home sweet home)
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