A woman wrote and asked me about Mr. Ennis,
my old high school art teacher. She asked if I knew
how he died. Was it something tragic? I said I didn’t know,
but I thought he just used himself up. I remember him sitting
in the wash bay of my brother’s gas station drinking beer
in a paper sack from the Minit Market. Not having trysts
with coeds. He was retired. There were no more young women
in his life. What did he have to trade? A part in the school play?
A job on the annual staff? He was kind of seedy and stove-up.
Drunk all day. No home to go to. I think he was still married,
but I don’t know. I knew nothing of his private life. I don’t know
what his home life was like when he had a home to go to.
What was my home life like? How did it contribute to
my accomplishment? Did it hinder me or help me?
Or both. Was it a two-edged sword? I can’t imagine
not being married, not having kids, we’re keeping Rowan
this weekend, New Year’s Eve is the biggest day of the year
for a musician and Balder and Jennifer are one.
For my father. He never stood a chance.
Between Pop Cason and us, he didn’t have
a life. It was all sacrifice and service.