There had to be more of the yelling and fighting than any one boy could withstand
for him to make a fantasy of the life he was going to live and then try and live it
as if it were no fantasy at all, as if fantasy were for other people (imagine: a father-figure
brings you home, says, Daughter, this is the fella I’ve been telling you about) the kind of life
even he admits is closed off to him now though he tries and dreams and presses on anyway
against a self not listening to any parent, doctor, priest, or brother; so, when fatherhood
finally comes for him it’s as if the pregnancy were happening to two other people,
and far enough away he can almost see himself holding on.