San Francisco
Part 24

For the rest of the afternoon, as we wandered around the foreshores of San Francisco Bay, Pop was trying to explain that we were all a product of our environment. "Your name is Daniel and you speak American English with a southern accent. You think and behave in a certain way 'cause you've been influenced by the people you've known, the type of education you've received, and the society in which you've been raised."

"You're saying that I've never had any say in who I am? I'm some kinda clone?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that the decisions you make about the kind of person you are, and the kind of person you wanna be, are generally governed - or limited - by your immediate environment as well as by the culture into which you were born. That's not true in all cases, of course. I'm sure there's the odd Tibetan monk who was born and raised in the USA."

I wasn't quite sure I agreed with Pop, but when I looked around at all the different people walking by -- Asian, Mexican, European or whatever -- I became increasingly curious about what it was that made people what they were. "Why aren't gulls different?" I asked as I observed a bunch of the squabbling birds fighting over some food scraps.

"They're not taught to be different. Pretty much everything they know is passed from generation to generation through their genes. Their decisions are pretty much limited to instinct. But if you took one of those birds home and tamed it as a pet it would become different. It would learn new behaviour from you, just as you've learned yours from your folks, teachers, and friends. Take your dog Kyle, for example. His ancestors were wolves. Human intervention and selective breeding over the centuries have produced an animal with certain characteristics. Kyle is Kyle because of human intervention. And humans are what they are for the same reason. Different cultures, religions, political points of view, languages, and other variations of human behaviour are not the products of nature. Much, if not almost all, of human behaviour is learned. You don't see too many apes shopping at K Mart."

"Jeez, Pop! Gimme a break! You're making me think that I'm not really me at all! At least, not the real me."

"The real you? You're real enough to me, Daniel," the old dude smiled as he placed his hand on my shoulder. "You could have been a different person to the one you are now depending on a whole range of factors. But those factors never came into play for all sorts of reasons. You weren't born in Mongolia. Are you happy with who you are?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"You're happy with your blonde hair and cheeky grin?"

"How about you, Pop? Are you happy with who you are?"

"I think comfortable is the word I'd choose. I feel secure in being who I am. Maybe that has something to do with the devil you know. Let me ask you something personal, Daniel. And you don't have to answer if you'd rather not."

"Shoot."

"If I could wave a magic wand and change you from being gay, or bi, or whatever you are right now, to being totally straight, would you want me to?"

For a few moments, I watched the gulls doing their thing. "No, Pop. If I changed, so might everything else. All my buds like me 'cause of who I am. And I like them for the same reason. And I don't want a whole bunch of new buds. I like things the way they are, even though sometimes things don't always work out."

"So now you know why Marc and Bene behave the way they do."

"No, Pop. That's totally different. They're in a war zone. Who'd wanna be in a fucking war zone?"

"Where would you be if your own family was being threatened?"

"OK, so you're making sense," I admitted after some thought. "But it's still wrong, Pop. War is fucked."

"Tell that to the gulls."

After we'd returned to the hotel, Pop flopped onto his bed for a nap, mumbling something about energy before he was soon stacking up zzzzs. How could he have been a teen once? I wondered as I studied his face; the lines, and the shock of white hair. I tried as hard as I could to imagine him at my age, but it was useless. It was like he must've born old.

A minute later, I was in the bathroom, looking at my reflection in the mirror, and trying to imagine my face in forty years time. Nope. I just couldn't see it. How the hell did people get old? Yeah... OK. Years. Then I tried to imagine myself as a little Daniel... like in the family photo album at home. Nope. I couldn't imagine that, either. If my mom hadn't told me that those pics of a little kid were actually me, I would never have known.

After I'd showered, I sat naked on the side of Pop's bed and bounced up and down a couple of times. "Hey, Pop! You'd better go shower. Spencer's gonna be here at 7."

"Huh? What the...??? Oh... it's you. Uh...what time is it?"

"Almost 6. Hey, Pop? Have you ever seen your baby pics?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"I was just wondering. Were you cute?"

"I still am."

That cracked me up totally... 'specially 'cause he was looking so damn grumpy. "I can't imagine you as a baby... or even a teen."

"How the hell do you think I got here? Congratulations Mr and Mrs B. You're the parents of a healthy 155 pound boy with a full head of white hair."

"Have you got a pic of you as a teen?"

"Sure. I carry it around in my wallet all the time. Daniel! What the hell are you talking about?"

"I was looking at you when you were asleep, and trying to visualize you when you were my age. It's weird 'cause I've seen actors when they were young... like John Wayne in his old movies... and the Brady Bunch. But it's like you were never any different. I've only known you for a short while, and I can't see old movies of you."

"I wonder if actors watch their old movies," Pop said as he swung his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I'm not sure I'd want to... if I'd been an actor, that is. It's bad enough reading the stuff I wrote years ago. We change. But the change is gradual, so we don't really notice it until... until we're suddenly confronted with it. I remember my father telling me that one day he looked in the mirror and saw an old man. It's not like he'd gone from 20-something to 70-something overnight. But for some reason I've never been able to fathom, it came as a shock to him."

"Are you shocked?"

"Constantly," he chuckled. "It seems like one day you're looking at a young face in the mirror, and then one day... Hmmm. Maybe it's a denial thing. For years you convince yourself that you haven't really changed, but then the changes become so obvious you can't deny them any longer. I think that's probably what my father meant when he said he suddenly saw an old man."

"Did you like your dad?"

"I've got photos of him looking like a hero in his younger days, and I admire those images. But my dad wasn't really a hero. I mean, he was just an ordinary working man... raised a family of four sons, and was a good provider. But he pretty much kept to himself. I never really knew him. I don't think he knew me, either."

"I sometimes wonder what my dad would think of me if he was still alive."

"No point in worrying about that, Daniel."

"Yeah, I know. But I still wonder. I mean, what if he really knew me? What would he think?"

"What if you really knew your dad? What would you think of him? Don't you see, Daniel? It's a pointless exercise."

"Did your dad like you?"

"If he did, he never said so... at least not to me. Anyway, Daniel, you can't spend your entire life worrying about what other people think... unless you happen to be a politician. Believe me, it's what you think of yourself that matters most. And if certain other people happen to agree with you, that's a bonus. I'd better shower."

Pop rose from the bed, waddled toward the bathroom, then paused to frown, "And you'd better get dressed!"

"We're going to Spencer's, not the hotel restaurant."

"Daniel!"

"OK, OK," I laughed. "Hey, Pop?"

"What?"

"You're pretty cool for an old guy."

While Pop was showering, I stood at the hotel window watching the Golden Gate Bridge changing color as the sun set on another day in San Francisco. How fucking awesome would it be to jack off on the bridge, I asked myself. It'd sure beat the hell outa jacking off on the pedestrian crossing back home. Just the thought of standing naked in the middle of that bridge while fisting my tool gave me a major hardon right away. But San Francisco wasn't like the backblocks of Tampa. This was a 24/7 city. It never stopped. No way would I ever get an opportunity to be the only person on that bridge. Even so, the idea of splattering my boy juice all over the road excited me.

I was still stroking my rock-hard boner when I heard the bathroom door open, then close again almost immediately. Pity. It would've been cool to have Pop watching me. But I guessed he was too embarrassed.

"Pop?"

"I'm not done yet."

"So how come you opened the door?"

"I thought I was done... but I remembered something."

"What?"

"Never mind. How long are you gonna be?"

"You can come out now."

"Are you finished?"

"Nope."

"Then I'm not coming out."

"I'm just jacking off, Pop. It's no biggie."

"Let me know when you're finished."

"How come you don't wanna watch?"

There was quite a long silence before Pop finally answered. "Because you'd be watching me."

"I don't understand you, Pop. I watch my buds when they jack off."

"I'm not your bud."

"You can't stay in there forever, Pop."

"Yes I can. Well, I could if there was a damn fridge in here."

"It's 6:45. Spencer's gonna be here in fifteen minutes!"

"Are you dressed?"

"Not yet."

"Damn! OK, I'm coming out, but I'm not gonna watch!"

Sure enough, Pop emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in his trademark towel, and sprinted at lightning speed straight to the closet to get his clothes without so much as glancing at me as I continued to jack off in front of the window.

"Aaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhhh!!!!!"

"I think I'll wear the blue shirt."

"Oooooooooo!!!! Fucking hell!!!!!!!!"

"And the gray trousers."

"Uh, uh, uh, uh! Oh! Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!!"

"And my Dunlop sneakers. I know that..."

"Uh, uh, uh... ohhhh my fuck!"

"...you youngsters are into Nike and Reebok and all that other..."

"Woooooooooohoooooooooooo!!!!!"

"... baloney, but my Dunlops will do me just fine. I don't have to worry about all that fashion shit at my age."

"Damn! Whoa! Wow, Pop! That was awesome!"

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