Date: Fri, 19 Aug 2022 19:22:44 +0000
From: JordanProject@protonmail.com
Subject: Prisoner & His Cellmate, Chap 2

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PRISONER & HIS CELLMATE – Chapter 2


"So you're in the court of the Philosopher King, the Boss of Bosses," the
trusty said to the young inmate. "Most powerful inmate in the joint. Hey,
has he told you about how prison is a tree, fed by Manhood, sex, and
violence? He's kind of famous for that one."

"Yes sir," the young prisoner responded. "Is that just some line he's
feeding me?"

"Hell no!" the trusty answered. "Don't you fuckin' know your cellie's
story? I can't believe he didn't tell you."

"We haven't talked a whole lot," the young prisoner replied.

"He hadn't been here for a week, and four Mexicans jumped him in the
basement and tried to fuck him," the trusty said. "He killed two of 'em
with his bare hands, and sent another one to the infirmary for three
months. Got six months in the hole for it. A couple days after they let him
out, the fourth Mexican is found dead with his dick and his balls in his
throat."

The youngster gulped.

"I didn't know," he said, his eyes wide. "With his bare hands, sir?"

"Gouged one guy's eyes out and rammed his nose bone into his brain, and
crushed the other one's windpipe," the trusty said. "Third one had both
arms and one leg busted, and half his ribs, and a piece of his skull taken
off. There was blood everywhere. You could hear the screams up here."

"Maybe that has something to do with why he's so much against rape, sir?"
the younger asked..

"Hell, he doesn't try to stop the rapes in here," the trusty said. "He
think rape's just a sign of who's a Man and who isn't. I mean, he wasn't
going to let himself get fucked, but he's not going to step in and prevent
it either. Most he'll usually do is try to see to it that it doesn't cross
the race lines and start a riot."

The trusty smiled, showing a missing tooth.

"Your cellie loves to get his dick sucked, and screw," the trusty
said. "He's been here going on 15 years, and has had two regular boys plus
a lot on the side. He just wants it to be voluntary, that's all."

"That's what he kind of told me the other night, sir," the young prisoner
said. "About not raping anyway."

"Well, he told you right, from everything I've ever seen and heard," the
trusty said. "You're going to be in there for a month. You'll see. He'll
have boys taking care of him, but you don't have to worry about waking up
some night with his dick in your butt. Even if you tell him you want it, it
might not happen."

The trusty shifted in his seat, indicating a change of subject.

"Back to that tree stuff," he said. "Boss had been here about six months
when he came up with that one. Instant fame. He nailed it. There were cons
in tears over it, saying they finally understood what prison was
about. That's why he's the philosopher, anyway."

"How about the king part, sir?" the young prisoner asked. "Killing the
Mexicans?"

"Not really," the trusty said. "People get killed here all the
time. Without talking out of school, I can tell you that nothing moves in
or out of here without his say-so. Nothing. I think he's got big time Mafia
juice, but that's only a guess."

The youngster remembered what he'd been told about discussing contraband,
and only nodded.

"Everyone trusts him, from the warden on down," the trusty said. "Straight
shooter. Man of his word. And no one reads people better. He knows people
better than they know their own selves. Probably the biggest reason he's
king is 'cause without him, there'd be 10 times as much killing in here."

"How does he prevent killings, sir?" the youngster asked.

"He's like a judge," trusty answered. "When the time's right, he'll
rule. Not on everything, only on the stuff that really counts. The Mexicans
look up to him 'cause of what happened. The niggers listen to him because
he's got the power. Even the Aryan motherfuckers go to him when things are
tight, and they don't listen to nobody anywhere else."

Before the youngster could reply, the prison bell rang, indicating the end
of lunch. The trusty bid him goodbye.

"Don't fuck it up," he said. "You don't want to piss that Man off. But you
don't have to be his boy. Big rule of his. You've got to ask."

* * * *

"I'm surprised they wanted me to talk to you," the inmate said. "I'm the
last one they should want you to talk to, because I don't buy into any of
the bullshit in here."

The young prisoner studied the white inmate's face. It was young and
delicate, but there were circles under his eyes and his skin didn't look
quite right.

"They said they wanted me to hear it from a bunch of angles," the youngster
said. "The trusty said you are a freelance hustler in here." He didn't
mention that he was also told the inmate was a drug addict.

"That's right. These fuckers, they either pay or they don't get me," the
inmate said. "They think they call the shots, but they pay. I get more
stuff in here than just about anyone."

"How did you set it up?" the youngster asked. "I thought that you're either
a Man or not, and if you're not a Man then you belong to one."

"Yeah, right, and the prison is a tree, blah blah blah," the hustler said,
mockingly. "I'm not a Man because I let them screw me? Bullshit. No screw
if they don't pay. I decide who gets it and who doesn't."

The young prisoner said nothing, waiting for the hustler to continue.

"The gang leaders and the trustys and most of the guards are in a big
circle jerk. A kid like you comes in, and they try to tell you that you're
not a Man and that you better give it up. Meanwhile, they're drawing straws
to see who gets you for free. The one you're with right now is the biggest
game player of all!"

"Really?" the youngster said. "It's hard to know what to think."

"He loves to be the good guy, but it's exactly the other way around," the
hustler said. "At least if the Latin Kings or the nigger gangs or the
Aryans or just some group bangs you, they don't try to tell you it's all
your own fault. The one you're with, he'll sit back and make you come
crawling to him and tell him you were never a Man and you deserve to suck
his dick. As if you had any choice!"

The young prisoner sighed and looked down at the table.

"These so-called 'Men' are full of shit, and I tell it to their faces," the
hustler said, laughing as he spit out the words. "Most of them are such
closet cases that they can't even get it up unless I wear a pair of
panties. What a joke. Manhood? Give me a break!"

One of the hustler's hands twitched as he spoke.

"I was in your 'diversion program' when I got here," he said. "The trusty
who was my 'guidance counselor' promised not to rape me, but then he did it
anyway. I told him that unless he paid me in cigarettes, I'd turn him
in. I've been selling it ever since. Fuck them and their 'Manhood.' They
get what I tell 'em they'll get."

"How do you get your customers?" the youngster asked.

"The trusty that sent you to me lined them up at first," he answered. "Took
me about a week to cut loose of that. Now I am, shall we say, a
businessman. I am my own Man here. Once you let go of this 'Manhood' shit,
you can do good. When some fucker's screwin' my ass, I push back. It's not
about them, it's about me, and I never let them forget about it."

The young prisoner shook his head in amazement.

"I don't know how you get away with it," he said.

"A Man will do what a Man's gotta do," the hustler answered, laughing again
and glancing toward another table. "Hey, I gotta go. Tonight's date is over
there!"

With that, he was off.

* * * *

The inmate sitting in front of him wasn't much older than he was, yet his
face bore a haunted look. His features were soft, and his body was rounded,
and his shirt clung to breasts that were larger than a male's. His hair
hung to his shoulders, and he wore mascara.

"I was so stupid," he told the young prisoner. "They offered the diversion
that you are in, but I told them I wasn't interested. They tried two or
three times, but I refused, so they gave up and threw me into genpop. God,
that was stupid!"

"Why didn't you take their offer?" the youngster asked.

"A buddy of mine told me that being in diversion would be like putting a
big 'R' for 'rape' on my back, and that I ought to be able to take care of
myself," the inmate answered. His voice was soft, like a woman's, but not
quite like a woman's.

"My buddy bought into the whole college football player macho deal," the
inmate said. "So did I. And once I got here, it seemed like the other
prisoners did. They all wanted to hear about my playing days. I thought I
was one of them. God, I was stupid!"

The young prisoner looked at the inmate who was talking to him. His
masculine features were still visible beneath his makeup, but everything
was off. The inmate saw him staring.

"Hormones. I have to take female hormones!" he said. "My dick is much
smaller than it used to be, and I'm growing these tits. I wear a bra now
..."

His voice trailed off.

"What happened?" the astonished young prisoner asked.

"The fucking Aryans. It was all a big setup. I had no idea," the inmate
answered. "They took me in. They said prison was dangerous even for a stud
like me and I could be killed, but if I joined them I'd never have any
problems here."

"But it was a lie?" the young inmate asked.

"Right from the start," the he-she answered. "They built me up, and then
they dropped the bomb. I'd have to kill someone. They captured some poor
black kid in here, had him all tied up. Handed me a power drill and told me
to start through one of his eyes. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it!"

"Oh God!" the youngster answered. "A power drill? His eyes?"

"When I couldn't do it, they did it, and then they poured acid into him,
and burned him, and hacked off fingers, and hands, and feet," the inmate
said, shaking at the memory. "There was blood everywhere, the poor kid. I
wake up with nightmares!"

"I would too!" the horrified young prisoner said. "I can't imagine ..."

"The Aryans are beyond brutal," the he-she said. "You wouldn't believe the
things they do."

"So when you wouldn't kill the black guy, they raped you?" the young
prisoner said.

"Worse than that," the he-she said. "They acted like there was nothing
wrong. They said not to worry, that I could still belong to them. I didn't
have a single clue what that meant."

"Uh-oh, I think I can see where this is heading," the youngster said.

"They built me up like I was their friend, just like before. A couple weeks
later, they took me to the same place where they had killed the guy, and
had a ceremony," the he-she said. "I thought I was joining them, but I was
really swearing that I 'belonged' to them. I wouldn't have to kill anyone,
but I had to do whatever else they said. It was a blood ceremony. I agreed
to everything. God, I can't believe how stupid I was!"

"Oh man!" the youngster said. "I've been told that the Aryans are the
worst, but this is the first time I've heard about what they actually do."

"As soon as they were done that night, they put me in panties and a bra,
and the whole crew took turns on me," the he-she said. "They still do
it. Every weekend, they get all cranked up and have me pull a train. Then
all week, one or another one will come up behind me and squeeze my butt or
one of these tits and say something like, 'Choo-choo,' just to taunt me."

"And they make you take the hormones? How do they get them in here?" the
young prisoner asked.

"Your cellie knows all about that," the he-she answered. "I don't know what
will happen to me now. I can't do this, but I'm too afraid to kill myself."

"Jesus!" the young prisoner said. "Jesus Christ!"

"The worst part about it was that all of it was planned out," the he-she
said. "Even if I had killed that black kid, the Aryans would have done the
same thing. One of them told me a while back. They fingered me right
away. It was just one of their games. So whatever you do here, do not get
mixed up with the Aryans!"

The prison bell rang. The two inmates got up from the table, and went their
separate ways.

* * * *

"So you've been talking to a bunch of people in here," the trusty
said. "Tell me what you heard that made sense."

"Let's see," the young prisoner said. "This place is a tree that's built on
Manhood and runs on sex and violence. Now that I've been here just a little
while, I see it. And someone told me that if you go into diversion, you
come out with an 'R' on your back for rape, and I think I believe that,
sir."

"You had an 'R' on your back the minute you got here," the Man
replied. "Diversion gives you time to deal with the realities instead of
biting the pillow on your first or second night.  But we can talk more
about that in a bit. Anything else you heard that makes sense?"

"I have heard that the Aryans are beyond brutal, and that almost everyone,
but especially the blacks and the Latinos, want you to be a girl or a
bitch, and I believe that, sir," the young prisoner said. "And people are
telling me that I am in a cell with the most powerful inmate in the prison,
and I believe that."

"Right on both counts," the trusty replied. "Anything else?"

"Well, I heard things I didn't believe, sir," the young prisoner said.

"Like what?" trusty asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That you can be a freelance whore and still be a Man, and keep safe," the
young prisoner said. "I don't believe that."

"Good thinking," the trusty said. "That route leads to a short life. You'll
see."

"Sir, there's something else, but I don't know how to say it," the young
prisoner said. "I guess I'm afraid that I already blew it."

"Why's that?" the trusty asked.

"I talked back to him when he told me he didn't rape," the prisoner
said. "I called him a liar without actually saying so. I'm afraid he'll
kill me or something."

* * * *

"If you belong to a Man in here, chances are you'll be his bitch. He'll
call you by a girl's name and be looking at porn while you suck his dick,"
the trusty said. "It's not the worst thing, because you can tell yourself
it's all some strange movie that has nothing to do with you. But it'll
still get to you, especially if he makes you do it outside of his cell."

"Yes sir, I can imagine," the young prisoner said. "The ones I've talked to
in that situation don't like it very much."

"The Boss there, he'll rent girls out for a pack or two of cigs just like
the rest of the Men in here do, but when it comes to ownership he goes for
boys," the trusty said. "And he's totally serious about not raping. They
got to want it, which is just as much of a head-twister as being raped or
threatened into someone's bitch. Maybe even more."

"Why is that, sir?" the youngster said.

"You'd have nowhere to hide," the trusty replied. "No one gets forced to be
the Boss's boy. That's a job you apply for, and you've got to be damned
eager about it. It's all on you, and he'll make that crystal clear."

"I see," the young prisoner said. "Maybe it's why he keeps telling me to
think about things."

"Yep, you got it," the trusty said. "When you ask him to let you suck his
dick, first thing he'll probably do is tell you is you'd better think about
you're wanting to do. He'll make sure you know you never were a Man in the
first place. He'll be right, so if you decide to go that route you'd better
be ready for it. And don't even think about bullshitting him, because he'll
figure it out right away and then things will go very bad for you."

"Thanks for telling me, sir," the young prisoner said. "I can really see
that I do have a lot to think about."

"That's a good way to approach it," the trusty said. "First give up your
Manhood inside your head, then apply for the job with him, if that's the
way you want it. If he takes you on, you'll be his slave, alright, but
there are big benefits too."

"What are those?" the youngster asked.

"For one thing, no one will dare to touch you or even insult you," the
trusty said. "And if you can get your head around what it means to be a boy
and not a Man, you will find that it'll work out better than you
think. It's really about what's inside your own head."

"Why would it be better, sir?" the youngster asked.

"You'd be what you always were anyway, but it's something that's hard to
come true outside," the trusty replied. "You'd get screwed from both ends
all the time, and be the Boss's property 24 hours a day, but you'd have a
safe place on the tree. There'd be a lot of things not to worry
about. You'll be able to do your time, anyway, and learn a lot about Men
and Manhood from the Boss. Not too bad a deal, if you can handle it. You
are his type, anyway."

"Is there anything else I should know?" the youngster asked. "Would he want
me to be a girl like I heard about before I got to prison?"

"Not him," the trusty answered. "If he wants to keep you, it'll be as a
boy."

"I guess that's good," the young prisoner said.

"Yeah it is, but you'll be doing everything a girl does," the trusty
said. "Sucking his dick, taking it up the ass, cleaning his cell, kissing
his ass in every way. If you ever forget who's the Man and who isn't,
you'll be in big trouble. Oh yeah, and he'll make you shave off all your
hair and wear a cuff on your gonads to keep ya from whacking off."

"What?!" the young prison asked.

"His boys don't have any hair from their neck to their ankles, and he
thinks hardons are for Men only. The other boys said it was rough at first
but they got used to it."

"He told me I can't beat off."

"He did?"

"Yeah, the other night."

"That means he's interested."

* * * *

"So it's been three weeks. You've had a chance to see how things go here,"
his cellmate said. "Is there anything you need to ask me, or want to talk
to me about?"

"Yes, sir," the young inmate said. "I have been waiting until I was asked,
sir."

"Now's a good time," the Man said. "You can tell me what you think about
things."

"I don't know how to say it, sir," the youngster said. "I'm afraid I'll say
it wrong."

"Might as well give it your best shot," his cellmate replied. "I won't bite
your head off."

"Well, sir, when I saw you in the shower room last week being taken care
of, everything seemed to make a lot more sense," the youngster said,
tentatively. "About Manhood and everything."

"You mean about Men getting sex in here?" the Man asked.

"When you stroked that boy's head and told him that he was doing good, he
was in heaven, sir," the young prisoner said. "It was so, um, perfect, I
guess. He was in his place, and you were in yours. It seemed so, uh, right,
sir."

"Well, I remember seeing your little squirt gun standing straight up,
anyway," the Man said, with a gentle chuckle. "You stayed that way when he
came back and drank my piss. I noticed that too."

"That was the best part, sir," the young prisoner said. But he quickly
added, as if correcting himself, "That was what I thought, sir. I didn't
mean to say what was best, sir."

"That's alright," the older prisoner said, reassuringly. "I told you that I
wanted to know what you think, so it's okay to tell me. I asked."

"He looked straight up at you," the young prisoner said. "It was like he
had been in the desert, and was getting his first drink in a week. When I
saw that, and you standing over him telling him that he was doing right,
all I could think was how lucky he was."

"And you waited this long to tell me?" the older prisoner asked. "Why?"

"Sir, you told me that I should keep my opinions to myself until I was
asked," the young prisoner replied. "Was I wrong? I didn't think it was my
place to ..."

"You're right," the cellmate said, interrupting. "I'm not upset, Other way
around. You've been learning."

The youngster breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"I didn't know what to say," he said. "I have kept it inside, and hoped I
might get the chance to say this before I have to leave your cell, sir."

"That's what you want to do? Leave and go into genpop?" the older prisoner
asked.

"It's not up to me, sir," the youngster replied. "I was told this would
last a month, and the month is almost finished. I would like to stay here
if you would have me, sir."

"Do you know what that means?" the Man asked.

"Only what I've been told by you and others, sir," the younger
replied. "All I really think I know is that what everyone's said about
Manhood makes sense now, and that the boy in the shower room was incredibly
lucky, and that I would do anything to be that lucky, sir."

"Do you know that a Man would never want what you are telling me you want?"
the older prisoner asked, looking straight into the youngster's eyes.

"I don't know what a Man wants, sir," the youngster said. "I'm not a Man,
so I figure it's not for me to say. I think my place is to do everything I
can to make you happy – that is, if you will let me."

"Well, that's a damn good start," the Man replied. "It's the right
attitude."

"Sir, no Man has ever told me that I did right," the young prisoner
said. "When you told that boy that he was a good boy and that he was doing
good by you, and when you tell me I have the right attitude, the last thing
I want to think of is trying to be a Man. In fact, that feeling I get by
being told that I did right makes me know I'm not a Man, and that I don't
want to be one. It's hard to explain, sir."

* * * *

Dear Stephanie,

Since I committed the crime that sent me to prison, I have had the time to
think about a lot of things. I hope what I share will help you understand
some things.

I finally read the letter you sent a few months ago. I wanted to offer my
best wishes for your future with Henry Williams, and to let you know that I
bear no grudges about how things went, either with him or with Cougar
Franklin, or with any other Man you might have been with, either while we
were "together" or before. I apologize not only for the harsh words I spoke
when you broke up with me, but for my actions that led you to feel that you
had to conceal things.

You deserve a Man in your life. Someone who can make his own decisions, and
be your leader and partner in life. Who can show strength, confidence, and
authority. That was never me, but I was afraid to realize it. Now that I
have had the time to think about my nature, the nature of others, and my
place on the tree that we call life, I realize that I couldn't have been
the Man you sought. Like most women, you want a Man, and you always had a
right to find him.

I was an obstacle along the way. I forced you to hide your search for a Man
from me. But now that I look back, I realize that at some level I knew what
was happening. That I wasn't what you were looking for and deserved. I want
you to know that, in my eyes, there was nothing wrong with how you did
things. You were compassionate with me, but you did what an adult must do:
find your destiny, reconcile the conflicts, and move on.

We are very different. I was, and really still am, less a Man that I am a
boy destined to be governed by others. When you wrote that I have always
done what others tell me to do, you were right. It's what boys are. I think
some people are just that way, and I am one of them. My task is to find my
way as someone who cannot ever be what can rightly be considered a Man, yet
find a place that will allow me to live and find comfort. This has been a
difficult realization, but it's true.

I look back at the crime that got me here, and the previous ones that I had
not told you about. These were not me finding my own way, as I had
imagined. They were just examples of disobedience of authority and of my
father. But they were also something else. I think I partnered up with
these people because I was looking to be told what to do. They were
stronger, more confident, and seemed to have more authority. So I followed
them, in the way that a boy will seek to follow his father. I didn't so
much disobey my father as I just looked for a different one.

In some ways, prison is the best place for someone who is destined to be
governed. I am told what to do, and when to do it, by the Men who establish
the rules here. If I am fortunate, I may find a future inside, and a way
that will carry me after the day in the future when I would be
released. There are plenty of dangerous Men in here, but there are also
some wise ones who understand the nature of my struggle, and hopefully can
guide me along the way.

More fathers, I guess. I'm going to be here a long time, so I don't see the
use in fighting against what's true anyway. All I can do is hope that I
follow the right people here.

Before I close, I would like to say a little more about Henry and Cougar,
the two Men whose pictures you sent. I am not surprised that you found
them. I remember meeting Henry and seeing the two of you talking, and being
envious of his confidence in the way he dealt with me.

Looking back, I can see that he sensed that I could tell what was happening
between the two of you. He paid me no mind. He made it clear that he
regarded me as no competition or threat, and would do what he pleased. It
seems cruel what I write it that way, but a Man shouldn't worry about what
a boy might think of his romance with a woman, and he didn't. If, by now,
you have followed through on your plan to marry him, I think you will be
with a strong, confident Man who will lead you into the future by his side.

I never actually met Cougar. Of course, I saw him perform at rodeos. He was
tall, strong, and skilled at what he did. Once, at a rodeo, you left me in
the stands and went down to the field to meet the horses, and I saw you
talk with him. I zoomed my camera in, and saw you touch his arm, and smile,
and him return it. I could tell right then that you'd be together, and that
you belonged in his arms and not mine. For a while, I tried to imitate his
swagger, but realized I was only making a fool of myself, and stopped. So I
cannot hold even the slightest grudge against you for being with the Man I
once thought I'd try and pretend to be.

My letter has come to an end. I wish you the best, and hope you won't think
too badly of the boy who, in the end, knows he could never be among the
ranks of the Men who would be worthy of your love.

* * * *

Dear Dad:

I don't know if you will ever see or hear these words. It's against prison
rules to send this letter to you, because you requested that I not contact
you. I am writing because I have been told to write an honest letter to my
father.

There are three kinds of criminals here. One is those who were trained to
do what they did. Another group is those who have a criminal temperament,
whether or not they were trained. Then there are accidental criminals, like
me, who blundered into it without training, inclination, or intention. This
isn't to say that I am innocent. I committed crimes, and I was caught. I
belong here, and don't regard myself as a victim of the judicial system.

Even an accidental criminal got here for one or reason or another, and
that's what my letter is mainly about. Because, while I never intended to
"be a criminal," I committed crimes. The question is why. Some accidental
criminals do it for the money. Others for a temporary thrill. Some are
under the influence of drugs or alcohol. None of those were involved in
what I did. Even though I was caught with $1,000 after the crime that sent
me here, it wasn't about the money. Even though there was an adrenalin
rush, it wasn't about the thrill.

You had a wife, who has now divorced you, and two children. One of them is
doing hard time for felony murder, and other other died of an overdose
after whoring herself out for most of a decade. What the three who depended
on you shared was your lifelong harsh disapproval. Each, in our own way,
was driven by an obsession to gain the approval and praise of the Man of
the house, but I don't recall that it ever came.

So we sought other avenues. Our mother turned to her books, and her
hobbies, and her friends. My sister and I each sought the approval of
Men. She in a sexual way, me through academics and athletics, and
eventually through brief criminal episodes in a life that was otherwise
extremely obedient to authority. As I look back, I realize that I did
nothing without being told to by a Man, either you, or a coach, or a
teacher. I worked very hard, but was mostly anonymous, out of the range of
most Men, and never praised in even the smallest way by you.

I studied what you told me to study. I wore the clothes you told me to
wore. I read the books you told me to read. I played the sports you told me
to play. I dated the girls you told me to date. I proposed marriage to the
woman you chose, and was preparing to enter the occupation you told me to
enter. We would have lived where you told me to live, and I would have
otherwise lived the life you told me to live.

The criminals that I fell in with, once in high school and then again on
that fateful night just before I graduated from college, were some of the
only people I ever met who simply told me that I did a good job at
anything: helping with some robberies. But those words, "good job," were
electricity. Those words, which I never heard anywhere else, made me into
the accidental criminal I am.

A Man needs to be strong, not just physically but mentally, and to be
strong he must be confident. Only with confidence and strength can he have
authority, and lead. Without ever being told I had done right, I never
became a Man. I remained a boy, destined to be governed by Men. I am not a
Man, have never been a Man, and cannot ever be a Man. This is my reality,
and will always be. This is your legacy to me.

I suppose I sound bitter about that, but I actually am not. To be angry
about this would be like being mad at a tornado, rather than accepting it
for what it is and living with the results. Here in prison, there is much
bitterness and anger, and it is destructive. I accept what I am, and hope
to be able to find my place on the tree of life, not as a Man, but as one
who will always, one way or another, be governed by Men.

Fortunately, the prison where I will serve my sentence is organized in such
a way as to bring me into contact with Men who I think can govern me in a
way that I can live with and learn from. I can't say where it will all lead
or how it will turn out, but I feel as if I am in good hands here. If I am
especially lucky, I'll be able to know and maybe even occasionally be told,
"good job." A small goal, I suppose, but not to me. As for you, Dad, I
sometimes ask myself whether I was raised by someone who, like me, was
never a Man at all, or whether you were simply a Man with deep flaws and
bitterness. I'll never know the answer and will try not to dwell on finding
it, but it might be a worthwhile question to ask yourself.

* * * *

"Alright, ya can stay until the end of the year, and then we'll see if
you've earned your place."