Keaton’s Reviews > Rage > Status Update

a couple of times I had worn it to school knotted around my neck, very continental, but I had gotten tired of the effect and put it to work as a snot rag. Bourgeois to the core, that's me.

They all understood it. This is not the same as comprehension, but it was good enough. When you stop to think, the whole idea of comprehension has a faintly archaic taste, like the sound of forgotten tongues or a look into a Victorian camera obscura. We Americans are much higher on simple understanding. It makes it easier to read the billboards when you're heading into town on the expressway (cont)

"What's the last book in the Bible, Don?"
"Revelations."
"Actually it's just Revelation. No s. Right?"
"Right, sure, right."
"Who wrote it?"
"John."
"What was your father's middle name?"
"John."
"Ever get a revelation from your father, Don?"
A strange, high, cackling laugh from Don Grace. Some of the kids blinked uneasily at the sound of that laugh.
"Uh... no... Charlie... I can't say that I ever did."

My God, you've been taking the responsibility ever since they let you loose from college!

And Sandra Cross was looking at me gravely, gravely, as if I were a doctor, or a priest.

"Mr. Grace?"
"Yes, Charlie?"
"The next time you ask me a question, I'm going to kill somebody down here."
I could hear Mr. Grace suck wind, as if someone had just told him his son had been in a car crash. It was a very un-self-confident sound. It made me feel very good.

I told her how Dad had thrown me on the ground. I told her Dad had lied.
It made me feel quite wonderful and strong.

but I was watching my father, who had turned and was stomping away like a surly little boy. It wasn't until then, until I had seen with what practiced and dreadful ease he had been banished, that I began to dare to hate him back.

It says in the Bible that the sins of the fathers are visited upon their sons, and that may be true. But I could also add that the sins of other fathers' sons were visited on me.

So I knew. I went to sleep, but I knew. The Creaking Thing was my father.