October 7, 2009
Dé Dé / France 1911 by Jacques HENRI LARTIGUE
DADDY SMOKED MARLBOROS.
Daddy whisked the boy away to Cavalaire for the summer. Unlike every other child in the family, the young boy was separated from his father by not only the Atlantic ocean; but,...

Dé Dé / France 1911 by Jacques HENRI LARTIGUE

DADDY SMOKED MARLBOROS.

Daddy whisked the boy away to Cavalaire for the summer.  Unlike every other child in the family, the young boy was separated from his father by not only the Atlantic ocean; but, hundreds of thousands of life shaping moments for which father would never be present.  It was imperative that the child witness and appreciate what it is to be a loved by his father.  These few precious moments they spent together had to count for all the times he was not in attendance.  Papa insisted on it.  The absolute best of everything would be paramount on this trip: large home near the beach, boat rental to discover nooks and crannies around the picturesque coastline, incredible French traditional foods (not that processed crap his mother fed him in America).  Most of the French family the boy loved so dearly managed to be in attendance.  They set off on the nine hundred Kilometer trip from Paris on a Friday.  Father, son, and beloved cousin, Margot, in the back seat.  The boy was ecstatic.  He had escaped the clutches of his mentally unstable mother in America; as well as, the abuse he sustained from his tormentors in school (if only for the summer).  When his daddy was present, the boy felt loved.  Truly loved.  Months later the boy would cry himself to sleep thinking of the drive for weeks on end; making sure to bury his face in his wet pillow least he be heard by his mother.  He would recall the stubble on Papa’s face in contrast to the half opened car window.  He would remember the endearing smile father would bless upon the boy, all while puffing away on a Marlboro light.  When he thought of that half cocked smile, Marlboro balanced seamlessly on his lips, the boy would receive a jolt of grief and cry out for his daddy without making a sound.  Just the hush emanating from his lips, “papa,” as the tears poured and his body quaked with grief.  The reality of a father’s cowardice and his inability as a provider is never contemplated by a child who sees him but for fraction of the year.  All is a wonderful fairy tale when the rigors of a normal life are replaced by boats and sandy beaches.  The boy built the mythology unknowingly.  Father let him.

Weeks later the family had settled into their large home by the beach.  They had explored nearly every alcove and island in the region.  The boy blushed and marveled at the beautiful half naked women strutting about.  Such “things” would never be exposed in Texas.  Most of all the boy was mesmerized by the ocean water.  Its clarity was as foreign to him as unconditional love he was experiencing from his French progenitors.  Mother had dutifully taken him to the local coastal cesspool by the port.  He remembered forming sand castles from the polluted mud and standing in six inches of water, unable to see his feet.  By comparison, In this paradise, he swam in the thick patches of seaweed, plucking starfish off the ocean floor.  He danced on the deck of the boat with his cousins screaming at the top of his lungs: “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!”  The thick French accent emanating from the others was amusing to him.  How he loved them he thought to himself.  He never wanted the summer to end.  The family gathered around the table on the patio for every delicious meal they savored whilst in the home.  Fresh tomatoes sprinkled with olive oil and topped with fresh mozzarella, whole farm raised chickens cooked to absolute perfection.  Their skin covered with assorted herbs and seasoning that the boy considered exotic.  At least four bottles of wine were consumed amongst the patriarchs every evening.  Father made sure to pour his loving son a small glass every night in hopes the elixir would coax whatever trace of his European genes lay dormant in the boy’s psyche.  Often, he would have conversations with his sister about the boy when he assumed the child was out of earshot.  The little man listened in one evening as his hero voiced concerns about his uncultured and Americanized spawn.  Concepts which flew over the child’s comprehension level; but, he felt the anxiety in his father’s voice non the less.  Fear penetrated the boy’s heart.  He attempted, to the best of his ability, to suppress the emotional duress.  He was seized by his mother.  Five thousand miles away, and he was already home from the summer holiday.

10:36pm  |   URL: https://tmblr.co/Z5_xSyH4gpK
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