I’ve Got Binders Full of Women and My Momma Ain’t Home!

by brandonnkelly

But I love my family and my God. And I’m too important to go to Vietnam, my dad told me. And he was right. I worked hard.  I did. Got two degrees, didn’t really even need the one with his connections but I knew better. It would be easier to disregard me without them. And I had her at my side; the strong jaw, the immigrant’s daughter, the origin of their tongue long gone, washed away with the tide of the American tongue and obscured with time, American now. Soon there were sons, then more bounty.

(www.WhyWomenAre.com)

But I had a secret. If they nick me they will see it, the void. My father fills it most days. Long gone as he is, he is still in my memory bay, plain as day, and stern as ever. I love him. I want to be him. I know the steps. I practiced his stance, his smile, his carriage in the mirror as a boy. As a man now I remember. But at times, when I forget, when the system overloads the other appears, the one who forgets names and boundaries and that his station is a station occupied by the few and not the many. My beach house must grow. I don’t care about the neighbor’s view. They have no power for they have not sought it out, not rooted it out of the Earth like a dog in search of truffles; that rare pleasure, power. But I have.

How dare she ask me a question like that? I told her “No”. Maybe that wasn’t right to do, but when he starts I can’t always stop him. I can’t always hold him back and remind him that the station his father bought him and that he has worked to keep and grow is a privilege. But he yearns so. He feels his yearning around his neck and beneath his tie which constricts him just near the pulse. That’s when I can’t stop it. I just can’t stop it. You know he’s got a lot of gall that one tonight. He showed no fear. Doesn’t he know who I am? I bet he wouldn’t be so composed with me alone in a conference room. I forget things sometimes, like my faith. There was that kid in school that they keep bringing up, the kid whose hair we cut. Ok, I cut. So what? He was a wimp. And that’s what happens to wimps. They get it every time. My dad taught me that. He taught me to be strong. He made me that way. He mined the steel that built my legs. He divined the sheath that is now my skin. My father made me. He made me in his image. Are we not all just a reflection of someone?

(www.WhyWomenAre.com)

But at times, I get stuck. They forget that I need oil, since it has to be done in private. I’m not proud of this flaw, this defect. Why do you think she only has boys? That is no accident. When I am serviced regularly as outlined in the manual, everything works out. But when they forget when the reporters are too close and we can’t apply maintenance…it’s not fair. They have no idea how hard it is to keep me running. But there are enough people with enough money invested in me to do so. Not all of them know. Sometimes I forget to sleep. People talk about sleep a lot. I’ve learned what to say but even now I almost chuckle at them, what a flaw in their systems….sleep. What did Shakespeare say about it, oh I forget. You see how I can forget?

I knew not to say “binders full of women” but HE wanted me to. He has a need to be in charge. That woman moderator made me say it. How dare she cut me off! Born from that frustration was the binder comment. You wonder if I think women are equals. I don’t really care either way, I don’t have any female children. My wife is of a different era and is content. So no I don’t care. I know I shouldn’t say that but this is just for my eyes only so it’s ok. I don’t care about the 47% and I don’t care about women, though I love my wife very much, they tell me that is apparent. I am glad I didn’t have to compete with them when I was working. They would have found me out.

(www.WhyWomenAre.com)

brandonkelly@whywomenare.com

 

#Bindersfullofwomen

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