talent show: chris down and paula jean cowan @ union gallery

I am the father of two absolutely stupid children.  Not retarded; just stupid.  One is a stupid boy, and the other is a stupid girl.

I have known they were dim since before their mother left.  She was a librarian and had the insight to leave before I could.  Until now I sort of felt sorry for them and secretly thought that their stupidity might be my fault—you see my father is also from stupid stock. But I am not taking the blame anymore.  Not after what happened last week.

I travel a lot on business so the Stupid’s are left to fend for themselves. I turn off the gas before I leave and stock the fridge with microwave pizzas and meatloaf.  It is the only things they will eat.

It was a sunny afternoon as I drove home last Friday.  It was the type of day that makes you feel that no matter how bad your life is things are going to work out in the end.

As I turned down our street, I felt that familiar sinking pang of defeat.

It looked like a yard sale. Strewn across the lawn was our living room furniture and several small bicycles from the neighborhood.  A little boy was playing with a toy car on the front step.

I pulled in the driveway and just sat there.  I couldn’t move.  I rolled up the windows and smoked three cigarettes. One after the other until my throat burned.

It was the garden hose snaking across the walkway and up into the living room window that finally got me out of the car.

It was an utter mess.

Stupid Boy was writhing around the hardwood floor in his underwear and wool ski mask.  The neighborhood kids cheered each time he punched his own face.

Stupid Girl sat by the fireplace in a puddle of water with a tin of cupcakes.  Her hair was drenched, her shirt was off, and her chest covered in vanilla icing.

I locked the screen door and walked the car.

It was late afternoon, and as I exited back onto the freeway all I could think was that as a parent you try your hardest to see the world through their eyes, but sometimes you just can’t.

Chris Down’s website

Originally Published by Union Gallery (2006)

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About poolman
David Poolman was born in Wallaceburg, Ontario. He is an MFA graduate from the University of Windsor, and a graduate of the Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design. Working in drawing, video, print media, and installation, Poolman has exhibited in art galleries and screened in festivals both nationally and internationally. Poolman currently lives in Toronto and is a professor of Drawing at Sheridan Institute.

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