to turn the blind eye

Everything had gone slightly wrong that afternoon, I thought. Then I shifted on the couch, stretched my legs out straight, and watched more television.

The movie progressed.

New York Subway System.

At some point I turned to my right. My father was sitting beside me, on the couch, next to me. He was wearing an old pair of jeans with a faded burgundy terry-cloth bathrobe over it. He was pulling on the end of his beard.

"Dad, did you just catch that?"

"What?"

On the television a man gets into the shower moments before there is a ring at the apartment door. His son, in cowboy boots, sits on the living room floor watching cartoons. The boy does not answer the door.

"That guy taking off his sweater," I say.

???

"What was that all about?"

???

"No really, have you ever seen anything like that before?"

???

"That guy wasn't wearing anything under the sweater, and I am certain that thing was pure wool."

"Yes, yes, it was wool," he agreed.

"Are you even listening to me?"

???

"Who the hell does he think he is?"

???

"He wore that sweater all day long; over breakfast, sledding in the park, in the car."

"Enough, I'm watching the movie," he said.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"God-damn tough guy, that's who he thinks he is," I said.

"Why don't you go take a walk?"


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