Dad Character Analysis

“What’s with you and men being good?”

“Never met a good one, that’s all,” he says. “Adult men, Tink. Most fucked-up creatures on the planet. Don’t ever trust ‘em.”

I’ve been thinking lately, Alex, that every problem in the world, every crime ever committed, can be traced back to someone’s dad. Robbery, rape, terrorism […] it all goes back to dads. Mums maybe too, I guess, but there ain’t no shit mum in this world that wasn’t first the daughter of a shit dad. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but I’d love to hear about your dad, Alex. Was he good? Was he decent? Was he there?

“You can’t stay with me, kid.”

“Why not?”

This is Slim losing patience. It’s not loud what he says but it’s pointed.

“Because you’re not my fucking kid, mate.”

Unplanned. Unwished. Unwilled. Untested. Underdeveloped. Undernourished. Undone. Unwanted. Unloved. Undead. Shoulda coulda woulda never been here in the first place if that creep hadn’t dragged Mum into his car way back in the way back when. If she hadn’t run away from home. If her old man hadn’t run away from her.

“Eli said you drove them into the moon pool, Robert.”

And the dream feels so different when she says it like that. You drove them into the moon pool. Nobody else did. It had to be him.

But you heard them, Eli. You heard them on the phone, too.

“I was playing along, Gus,” I say. “I bought into the bullshit because I felt sorry for you being such a nutter.”

I’m sorry, Gus. I’m sorry.

“Well, here’s the reality, Gus,” I say. I point at Dad. “He’s so fuckin’ crazy he tried to drive us into a dam. And you’re just as crazy as him and maybe I’m just as crazy as you.”

[…]

“Did you mean to do it?”

Ultimately, in these embraces, to my surprise, hugging Dad back feels like the good thing to do and my hope is to grow into a good man, so I do it.

August and I wait for her smile because her smile is the sun and the sky and it makes us warm. We smile at her as we rush closer to the phone booth. She has nothing. No bags. No shoes. No purse. But she will still have her smile, that brief celestial event, when her lips open from right to left and she curls her upper lip and she tells us in that smile that we’re not crazy, we are correct about everything, and it’s just the universe that is wrong. And she sees us and she beams that smile and it turns out the universe is right and it’s the smile that is wrong because Mum is missing her two front teeth.

I know, Slim. I know I haven’t asked Dad about the moon pool. I know this happiness depends on me and August and Mum forgetting the bad old days. We lie to ourselves, I know, but isn’t there a little white lie in all acts of forgiveness?

Maybe he didn’t mean to drive us into that dam that night. But maybe he did. Maybe you didn’t kill that taxi driver. But maybe you did.

You did your time for it. You did your time and then some. Maybe Dad has too.

He keeps telling me he’s come back from somewhere. We both have. And he means the moon pool. We’ve come back from the moon pool.

“Yeah, it’s dead,” I say.

“Stupid bird seemed so determined to kill itself,” he says.

Caitlyn slaps her hands.

“Wren!” she says. “I remember now! That’s a wren.”

And with that, the dead blue wren comes back. Like it was just waiting for Caitlyn Spies to recognise it, because, like all living things—like me, me, me—it lives and dies on her breath and her attention.

“I thought they’d look different, your mum and dad,” she says.

I laugh. “You did?”

“They’re so nice,” she says. “They just look like any normal mum and dad.”

“They’ve been working on normal for quite some time now.”

“What’s with you and men being good?”

“Never met a good one, that’s all,” he says. “Adult men, Tink. Most fucked-up creatures on the planet. Don’t ever trust ‘em.”

I’ve been thinking lately, Alex, that every problem in the world, every crime ever committed, can be traced back to someone’s dad. Robbery, rape, terrorism […] it all goes back to dads. Mums maybe too, I guess, but there ain’t no shit mum in this world that wasn’t first the daughter of a shit dad. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but I’d love to hear about your dad, Alex. Was he good? Was he decent? Was he there?

“You can’t stay with me, kid.”

“Why not?”

This is Slim losing patience. It’s not loud what he says but it’s pointed.

“Because you’re not my fucking kid, mate.”

Unplanned. Unwished. Unwilled. Untested. Underdeveloped. Undernourished. Undone. Unwanted. Unloved. Undead. Shoulda coulda woulda never been here in the first place if that creep hadn’t dragged Mum into his car way back in the way back when. If she hadn’t run away from home. If her old man hadn’t run away from her.

“Eli said you drove them into the moon pool, Robert.”

And the dream feels so different when she says it like that. You drove them into the moon pool. Nobody else did. It had to be him.

But you heard them, Eli. You heard them on the phone, too.

“I was playing along, Gus,” I say. “I bought into the bullshit because I felt sorry for you being such a nutter.”

I’m sorry, Gus. I’m sorry.

“Well, here’s the reality, Gus,” I say. I point at Dad. “He’s so fuckin’ crazy he tried to drive us into a dam. And you’re just as crazy as him and maybe I’m just as crazy as you.”

[…]

“Did you mean to do it?”

Ultimately, in these embraces, to my surprise, hugging Dad back feels like the good thing to do and my hope is to grow into a good man, so I do it.

August and I wait for her smile because her smile is the sun and the sky and it makes us warm. We smile at her as we rush closer to the phone booth. She has nothing. No bags. No shoes. No purse. But she will still have her smile, that brief celestial event, when her lips open from right to left and she curls her upper lip and she tells us in that smile that we’re not crazy, we are correct about everything, and it’s just the universe that is wrong. And she sees us and she beams that smile and it turns out the universe is right and it’s the smile that is wrong because Mum is missing her two front teeth.

I know, Slim. I know I haven’t asked Dad about the moon pool. I know this happiness depends on me and August and Mum forgetting the bad old days. We lie to ourselves, I know, but isn’t there a little white lie in all acts of forgiveness?

Maybe he didn’t mean to drive us into that dam that night. But maybe he did. Maybe you didn’t kill that taxi driver. But maybe you did.

You did your time for it. You did your time and then some. Maybe Dad has too.

He keeps telling me he’s come back from somewhere. We both have. And he means the moon pool. We’ve come back from the moon pool.

“Yeah, it’s dead,” I say.

“Stupid bird seemed so determined to kill itself,” he says.

Caitlyn slaps her hands.

“Wren!” she says. “I remember now! That’s a wren.”

And with that, the dead blue wren comes back. Like it was just waiting for Caitlyn Spies to recognise it, because, like all living things—like me, me, me—it lives and dies on her breath and her attention.

“I thought they’d look different, your mum and dad,” she says.

I laugh. “You did?”

“They’re so nice,” she says. “They just look like any normal mum and dad.”

“They’ve been working on normal for quite some time now.”