Lindh said he would like to hug his son and kick his butt
for not getting permission to go to Afghanistan.
SON: Hey, Dad, you finished with that beer?
DAD: Yup.
SON: Want another?
DAD: Well…
SON: C’mon, Dad, loosen up. Mom’s three states away living in a gated community with some Lutheran named Sven. That makes you a free man–a guy on the town, a bachelor with a pad, a swingle! You can drink all you want now.
DAD: Well, okay. Pass me another.
SON: (Under his breath) Infidel!
DAD: What’s that, Son?
SON: I said I’d like to have one, too, if it’s okay with you.
DAD: Fine by me, Son–we’re in California! We’re enlightened. We live the life of the Old World. We take walking tours through wine country, we host romantic al fresco dinners on the decks of our beach houses, we smoke marijuana at the dinner table–but never cigarettes, son. (Standing and towering over Son.) Never cigarettes! Do you hear me? Cigarettes are awful, vile, instruments of corporate America! They pollute the environment, make thousands of people sick every year, cause untold economic damage to the world’s developing countries–
SON: I understand, Dad.
DAD: –keep thousands upon thousands of uneducated workers in poverty-level jobs–
SON: Dad, I got it.
DAD: (Sitting down again.) …Oh. Ok. Good. So long as you understand.
SON: Yes, I understand.
DAD: Fine. I’m glad. …You know, we’ve never really had that talk before.
SON: Yeah. I’m glad we had it.
DAD: Good. Me too. Now where was I…. Oh, yes: our refined, higher standard of living…. Like I said, we’re laid-back here in California. We live not unlike centuries of Tuscans have done, celebrating holidays among loved ones without a hint of familial strife, traveling to the weekly market by horse-drawn buggy, consuming vast amounts of bread. So why should I mind if my Son–a young man, very nearly 21 years old–shares a beer with me?
SON: Gee, thanks Dad.
(They sit for some time on the patio of their Twin Peaks townhouse, watching the eucalyptus trees sway in the misty breeze. When Dad isn’t looking, Son pours his beer into a nearby bougainvillea. This continues for several hours until Dad is noticeably tipsy.)
SON: Hey dad?
DAD: Huh? …Whazzat, Son?
SON: I think I wanna travel some.
DAD: (Belches.) Then fer godsakes, travel. I wish I’d had the chance to do some oat-sowing myself, but that she-beast of an albatross–otherwise known as your goddamn mother–wrapped herself around my neck when I was just 18. I never had a chance. (Begins to sob.)
SON: …So, I was toying with the idea of kicking around the Middle East for a while. You know, since I’m a devout Muslim and all, I thought it might be a good thing to do.
DAD: Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure…. (Belches.) Hey, you know what I really love? Chinese food! Eggrolls! Yum! (Dad rolls out of his lawnchair and onto the terra cotta tile. He stretches out on his back, muttering to himself, “Eggrolls! Yum! Eggrolls! Yum!” while fondling his nether region. Son looks contemptuously at Dad for a moment, then continues.)
SON: That’s kinda why I’ve been growing out my beard, so’s I can fit in and all.
DAD: Huh? Who? Oh…. Brzsksyzrwp! Ack. (Dad sits up, suddenly lucid.) Hey, Son, pull my finger! Hahahaha! (Collapsing to the ground once more.) …Eggrolls!
SON: I figure I’ll go over to someplace like Afghanistan, blend in with a group of Islamic fundamentalists, share with them as many secrets as I can about the American military, then join the jihad. That okay by you?
DAD: Eggrolls! Eggrolls! Aroooooo! (Dad begins howling like a dog. This continues for some time. Son pulls out a hookah, smokes silently for a few minutes. Eventually it becomes clear that he’s had enough of this encounter.)
SON: (Tapping Dad brusquely on shoulder) Dad?
DAD: Huh? What! Whozzere? I can see you. You can’t hide from me!
SON: Dad, I’M GOING TO AFGHANISTAN TO BECOME A TERRORIST. Stay out of my room while I’m gone. And don’t forget to feed Sparky; if I hear that something’s happened to him, I’ll come back and stone you my goddamn self. Seriously. (Exits.)
DAD: Urp. Wheredego? Whereami? Wassamanspozedtado? ….Arooooooo!
(Blackout.)
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