Doc’s Corner: “True Romance” Edition

It was one of only 12 days of rare sunshine-like beauty out here in the City of Roses otherwise known as Portland, Oregon.

I was sitting in a part of the city I loathe where there are those fountains. No, not the giant, rad one on the waterfront where you can ride your bike through whilst a homeless man washes his balls. Not that one, you know the real hipster one in the trust-fund ala tech guru district known as the Pearl.

The spot I’m referring to is Jaimeson Park, most in the city know where this little spot of elitist shangra-la is. And it is a high-traffic landing pad for all the “We are so green it hurts” step-ford wives that bring their perfect one child to sit in the water with other “children” that they seem to bus in from the North Side to ‘interact with’ so they can ensure via social media that they in fact are raising and will have well adjusted young people in the future…with pictures proving said co-mingled interracial interactions for their Instagram feeds of course.

Anyways, I just picked up the latest issue of The New African as it had an article about the Mercenary King, Erik Prince and his “fatal fuck-up” in South Sudan and found a bench to sit and enjoy my double-soy, triple screened, green tea infused Kenyan sourced coffee strained through triple washed pubic hair of a rare female snow leopard. When I see them, this big, burly dude come walking up to the park with this little mini me version of himself.

His son.

This little fella is AMPed! He see’s the water fountain that doubles as a public play area for littles and he can barely contain himself. Curly red tendrils of soul devouring ginger locks, smile as broad as the Democratic explanation of Superdelegates wide. Just happy to be with his Pops.

The man’s back was to me as he prepped his Lil ginger for the fountain activities. I was thinking; “This guy’s got it all figured out, man. Teach the youth, interact, be present.”

As the man, who I already knighted as a superdad, turned around I focused my gaze at him intent on making the “bro code” eye lock. You know the one, where two dudes look at each other and just ‘understand’.

As soon as he was fully facing me. I read his tshirt. “Loves Sucks. True Love, Swallows.”

I sat back and enjoyed my tall cup of irony for the day.

Get off my lawn,