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Black Beauty
Dec. 6th, 2006 02:28 pmI don't know what specifically triggered it. Maybe it was my birthday, maybe dealing with work, or the course load i've willingly burdened myself with- maybe seeing family, maybe the holiday season. I don't know. In truth it was probably just a number of small things that, in their sum total led my mind back to remembering the story of Black Beauty. If you follow the link, you will find the story (essentially the autobiography of a horse) in all it's YA perfect for little girls glory. Sewell meant it to be for adults, and wrote it with the express purpose of increasing awareness about animal cruelty. It was the only book she wrote, and it has seemingly slipped into the nebulous land of public domain.
For those of you who have never read it- it goes something like this: colt is born, grows up, has a horrible injury, get sold to someone else, has a horrible or unfortunate turn of bad luck, is sold, repeat. Until the end, when he finally gets purchased by an owner that decides to keep him till the end of his days. This is of course, a terribly over-simplified summary of the story.
My father has been having health problems for some time now. He has been losing weight. He says his medication doesn't leave him with much of an appetite. He leaves his refrigerator bare, save for soda. He gripes about every nuance of his medical problems all the time. Sometimes he exaggerates, like he's always done- since we were kids. Since he tends to exaggerate, sometimes the gripes aren't taken seriously. For a couple of years now, his gripes have turned into a bleak repetition of the same statement (worded differently at times) that he will not be around forever, and that he's probably only going to be around for another 10-15 years or so, and that he has everything covered- even handling the death tax so that we don't have to worry when he dies. He's said this kind of stuff on numerous occasions, and each time we (Ray and I) have told him not to think like that, because it is likely not the case.
When we were kids, dad would take us out of school during the middle of the day to watch movies. It was during these daytime trips we saw a number of movies that are best described as 'not the best thing for kids' flicks. Like Platoon, and Aliens, and always every Arnold Schwarzenegger film, because dad is a big fan. Dad's solution for handling not-for-kids scenes was always 'the hand over the eyes' trick. It never really worked all that well, but I suppose you could say the effort was made. Anything too scary called for the 'turning your head in to face dad's arm' trick. Which had a measure of comfort to it, but did nothing to block out sound. It has been years since those days, and between then and now everyone is older, maybe not so wise, we all have our distances and differences between us, but the one constant through all of this is a familial connection and at times begrudging love.
I found out this week that dad's heart hasn't just been giving him trouble. It's been failing. The medication that he had been on just wasn't working as well as it had in the past. His doctors have put him on a new medication, to correct this. He says he's feeling much better now, than he has in awhile. Modern medicine at work. I am hoping that this stuff continues to work for him, that there are no horrible side affects. That he get his appetite back, and his demented sense of humor. That he stops talking about his impending death. Because even though he can be a total ass sometimes, I still love my dad.
For those of you who have never read it- it goes something like this: colt is born, grows up, has a horrible injury, get sold to someone else, has a horrible or unfortunate turn of bad luck, is sold, repeat. Until the end, when he finally gets purchased by an owner that decides to keep him till the end of his days. This is of course, a terribly over-simplified summary of the story.
My father has been having health problems for some time now. He has been losing weight. He says his medication doesn't leave him with much of an appetite. He leaves his refrigerator bare, save for soda. He gripes about every nuance of his medical problems all the time. Sometimes he exaggerates, like he's always done- since we were kids. Since he tends to exaggerate, sometimes the gripes aren't taken seriously. For a couple of years now, his gripes have turned into a bleak repetition of the same statement (worded differently at times) that he will not be around forever, and that he's probably only going to be around for another 10-15 years or so, and that he has everything covered- even handling the death tax so that we don't have to worry when he dies. He's said this kind of stuff on numerous occasions, and each time we (Ray and I) have told him not to think like that, because it is likely not the case.
When we were kids, dad would take us out of school during the middle of the day to watch movies. It was during these daytime trips we saw a number of movies that are best described as 'not the best thing for kids' flicks. Like Platoon, and Aliens, and always every Arnold Schwarzenegger film, because dad is a big fan. Dad's solution for handling not-for-kids scenes was always 'the hand over the eyes' trick. It never really worked all that well, but I suppose you could say the effort was made. Anything too scary called for the 'turning your head in to face dad's arm' trick. Which had a measure of comfort to it, but did nothing to block out sound. It has been years since those days, and between then and now everyone is older, maybe not so wise, we all have our distances and differences between us, but the one constant through all of this is a familial connection and at times begrudging love.
I found out this week that dad's heart hasn't just been giving him trouble. It's been failing. The medication that he had been on just wasn't working as well as it had in the past. His doctors have put him on a new medication, to correct this. He says he's feeling much better now, than he has in awhile. Modern medicine at work. I am hoping that this stuff continues to work for him, that there are no horrible side affects. That he get his appetite back, and his demented sense of humor. That he stops talking about his impending death. Because even though he can be a total ass sometimes, I still love my dad.