Wild eats feral

"Wild eats feral. Feral beats domesticated. Domesticated lives a long, long time, at the foot of its master. " 

I thought about getting that tattooed on my forearm in Latin, to make it look cool. It's the last thing my dad said to me. I know it's odd. He shouted over his shoulder to Mom, in the TV room. He said that he was going for a pack of Kools and some beer. Then he grabbed my ten year-old frame, leaned in and, looked me square in the eye and whispered, "I love you." 

I felt all the blood rush to my ears and then down to my stomach. He had never said that before. He could see the tears forming in my eyes as he walked away. At the last minute he reach back, rubbed the top of my head, and said, "wild eats feral. Feral beats domesticated. Domesticated lives a long, long time, at the foot of its master. " And then he was gone.

He took nothing with him. I know this is where someone says, "My dad left he took my childhood." Nope. I had a great childhood. My Mom was great. Eventually she got re-married to a guy that had a kid about my age, "Bam," instant step-brother. I had a great childhood.

My because of my dad I don't drink beer, I don't smoke, and I tell the truth at almost every turn. He didn't rob me anything, he did bend things a little. But what part of life doesn't get bent, from bumping into another part of life?

So, why I am sitting here, beer and cigarette in hand? I report to work on the construction site 20 miles from home, that son-of-a-bitch is the foreman.