Wednesday, February 25, 2009


Franco, my brother, asked me to print his monologue for him. Read and enjoy:

I remember what my wife told me. "If I want to be a good father, I shouldn't be my father" she was right because my father gave me a hard time growing up.
I remember the time when my 4-year old son was trying to get up and walk, he held my hand, and I let go as soon as he stood up. But after a few steps he fell, I picked him up as soon as he was about to cry. As time passed by, my son was at his teenage years—full of curiosity and deceit. He got addicted to all kinds of drugs and other vices, that’s when I realized that he fell again just like before. So I picked him up. Took him to rehab and let go once more. By the time he graduated college, I thought my role as a father is done. He was planning to have a family of his own because he has a stable job. I visited him at work one time; because I was driving near by. As I got to where he was working, there was an ambulance singing in front of me. I rushed to look for my son. I saw him lifelessly on the ground. I tried to pick him up one last time. I know I'm old but my hands are strong as ever. But this time I didn't let go.... He was the one who did. I lay
flat on the ground myself, weeping. My tears blinded my eyes as I saw a hand reaching out to me. It was my father's hand. Picking me up once more.

Photo by: melaniumom