My T —

At an early age I found myself in a relationship with an older woman.

Women have shaped me. With bats and hammers.

First my mom, who raised me. My dad ignored us.

Dating your mother has benefits and drawbacks:

I became her friend and protector, rather than son and ward. I became a replacement for my father (platonically!) and the world’s greatest listener too.

While young, I bore others’ emotional needs. I had no choice.

This didn’t make me responsible; it made me realize I was.

I learned other useful and dangerous things:

How to dress. (I get more compliments than my girlfriends.) How to speak the female language, or at least how to translate it.

(I use my powers for good!)

My mom’s other lesson: —Fear everything.

She did, given her very sheltered life. To this day she can’t drive — too afraid.

Don’t worry, we broke up, for these and other reasons.

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My dad mostly had mean things on his mind.

He did give me boxes of old records when I was seven though.

From them I learned the lyrics to the entire American songbook:

“It’s only a paper moon

Sailing over a cardboard sea

But it wouldn’t be make believe

If you believe in me…“

In middle school my dad asked me —Are you a lover or a fighter? I was a lover then, both now.

Around that same time a crush, Karol P, told me —You’re different. Boy am I.

Those songs didn’t make me sensitive; they made me realize I was.

They didn’t teach me how to feel. They taught me how to write.

Ironic then that when I told my dad I wanted to write he laughed in my face.

Did he right all his wrongs with those few boxes? I don’t know.

My dad’s other lesson: —Quit being stupid.

To him, everything I did was stupid: I was stupid. There is a certain irony in this too.

All he didn’t understand was stupid. Did he feel threatened by a kid he had no idea what to do with? If so, he would never admit it.

I was a bit much. I once had a nineteen hour phone call with another crush, Mylan T. Long-distance. When dad got the bill, I left home for good.

Just kidding, I left for other reasons.

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In college I majored in dating and English. I got top marks in both.

(I remember all of the girls, none of the classes.)

Speaking of intelligence, having it is like having a big nose:

First it embarrasses you, then you accept it, and finally someone tells you it’s beautiful and you begin to love it — though you should never base your value on others’ opinions.

I have always loved big noses. First there was April R (6th grade), then Lorraine Z (9th grade), and finally Her (Uni+). It starts with my mom though — she has some horn!

(Trust me: You’re as bright as all the stars of the sky and the screen.

I studied astronomy too!

I’m only headsmart. You’re heartsmart and more.

What I do can be taught, learned. What you do comes from a place all your own.

Please shape me. With pens and pencils…

Let me shape you. With care.

You are a maelstrom. I am a maze.

Yes you knew. We both saw.)

That, and I have always loved slender hourglass legs. They disarm me.

Robert Crumb says men who love women’s legs were boys who clung to their mothers’.

(It comes honestly.)

Once, with Her, her legs across me — laid low, helpless, happy — I thought I’d never…

To render me powerless, drape your legs across my lap. Do that and I’ll do anything.

(Use your power for good!)

(Or for any reason…)

— Your D

P.S. We need to write our love letter. I think about it all the time.