Having completed all my tasks, I would walk over to Father, who is always busy and involved in something. I would show him my picture of the apple, or other such cute object (even then I knew about them).
He'd just dismiss, making all of this energy -- this potential -- that I had gathered all this time simply seem like a W.A.S.T.E. As though it was I always in error, some kind of constant malfunction.
Like some little shit that should just dismissed away, as though I was just like some little shit.
I would, then, insistingly crawl into his lap, and he would curse into the microphone. Broadcasting.
"No, that is actually the cutest thing I ever heard!" someone would say from out there. Somebody from out there, in the universe. That is out there.
My father would take me off then, place me on the floor. Going back to his microphone, he would reply, "Ok. Do you want the cute baby, or do you want the actual data?"
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