A flawed man's laundry

My daughter will come to see me as a flawed man someday. She sees shortcomings in me now and tolerates them with a smile. I daydream, burn the popcorn, forget about the school meeting. I sign school letters without reading them, or when I burn my attempt at home pizza. At times, I'm dismissive, when I've arrived in the mood where I'm not folding another dish towel ever. I'm going to watch people get eaten by space aliens – no matter what – screw dishtowels. I've got bad taste in movies and music my kid thinks - except when I don't. I'm folding laundry now, not well. My kid doesn't notice that flaw in me. She uses the hamster nest style of organizing her clothes. I let her, peer pressure will make her fold and press her shirts... or it won't. In the laundry process, the dishtowels are coming up and a list of 30-minute purple-eyed people eater sort of shows to watch is forming. The last shirt is a Phantom Bill Sticker T - top of the pile. When I stare at that dog – what a mug – I remember the cold goo sliding up my arm as years ago I inserted my courage into the paste bucket for the first time. Five AM and risking deportation is my memory. I miss the simplicity of a see your breath morning before sunrise. Those are still moments. We don't remember days, we remember moments. I take photos to remember the good moments and to have the power to delete the bad ones - bonus! Photos are good - at least mine are, for me.