My father said some words. These are some of the words my father said.
My father did a lot of shift work at the plant, on his feet, got heavy and angry, and enjoyed life to the smallest extent possible. He took pleasure from neither the ridiculous nor the sublime, and in fact never once had to consider what sublime might have meant. Sublime was definitely not one of J. D. Warren's words. Reprobate, now, that was one of my father's words. He had six children he didn't much care to know, was without hobbies, passions, or pastimes, and had a job making plastic that found him answering to people who were softer and dumber than him — reprobates, all of them.
So he took his joy where he could find it, and in small doses, usually at 3:00 A.M., as his offspring slept and couldn't bother him. But since enjoyment of things was counter to my father's natural state of being, his stabs at pleasure didn't really ever work out for him. For instance, there's my father now, sitting on the ...