I was out drinking with a few people I'd met when the subject of parents came up. 

I didn't like to talk about that subject too much, but when I was asked I had to spill the beans: "I didn't know my father", I said. "And I don't like my mother that much." 

"What? Why?" 

"Well, more precisely: I like her but I don't love her. You see, for me love includes admiration and respect. What I feel for her is only tender pity, mixed with loathing and vengefulness." 

"You can't be serious. Why?" 

I knew I wasn't going to get laid by any of the girls that night, having played them some bloodthirsty whorehouse blues with deeply misogynistic undertones instead of the usual sugary pop rock covers, so I let it out straight and sweet now that they all had their eyes diverted to me. 

"He's drunk", one of them said. "Or stoned." 

"Bullshit", I said. "I take in more of this stuff than half of Spain. But anyway. You asked me why, so I tell you. She is dying. She's been dying ever since my father died. She's gloated me with money without asking for anything in return. How can you respect someone like that?" 

"Aren't you even thankful?" someone asked with reproach. 

"Yes", I said. "But that doesn't earn my love. Money can't buy me love", plucking out the chords from my guitar. 

They laughed. 

Good. 

Release of tension. 

Change of subject? 

But no. 

"So you pity her but don't love her?" another of my sexy jury commanded. 

"Yeah. And having had to watch her succumb into sickness, insomnia, dementia, seizures, attacks, rashes, total abstinence from the other sex since father died... She's become the idiot martyr for nothing in my eyes. Complete self-sacrifice...." 

"For you, Tom!" someone shouted. 

"Yes, perhaps", I said. "Or her high-grade job in the ministry. Who knows? Maybe both. But sacrifice will never earn you true love. This I have learned in my days, children. Prove me wrong." 

They could not. 

We kept drinking and smoking the night away.

Parental Issues

Thomas NoBody