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    Father & Sun
    Father & Sun
    Father & Sun
    Ebook52 pages39 minutes

    Father & Sun

    By Ross Victory

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    About this ebook

    Some say family is everything. Some say family are just people we're assigned to at birth.


    Trey Amana, a forty-something, hardworking father of two, discovered his dad's death five years ago on the day after Christmas. Althoug

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherVFTC Universe
    Release dateDec 20, 2020
    ISBN9781637523025
    Father & Sun
    Author

    Ross Victory

    Ross Victory is a cross-disciplinary writer, music creator, and educator originating from Los Angeles, California, USA.

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      Book preview

      Father & Sun - Ross Victory

      ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS

      What would you do with a million-dollar budget for Christmas decorations? A life-sized snow globe? A Christmas colored pyrotechnics show? How about live-in carolers that sing and shut up on demand? 

      While I don’t have an enormous budget, middle-of-the-road has never described Christmas decorations in my home. Growing up, I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in a church pew listening to a sweaty, overcaffeinated pastor guilt the congregation about giving their money to him instead of the local department store. I vowed that every Christmas would be over the top, and this year there was no exception.

      Thirty packs of flickering, white holiday lights surround the house. Battery-operated candles in every window. Tinsel, garland, bows, and ribbons in the front yard’s bushes and trees. A six-foot inflatable snowman along with black Santa—fueling my passive rebellion—his reindeer on the roof, and we still had space for the nativity scene, The Grinch, and Sponge-bob.

      My son, Avery, and I created a festive scene without breaking any body parts. After completing the Fall semester with a 4.0 GPA and a winning lacrosse season, my wife, Saben, and I granted our son’s wish for an over-the-top Christmas.

      Saben, Caleb, my youngest son nicknamed Biscuit–because he was obsessed with Pillsbury Southern Homestyle Biscuits–transformed the inside of our home into a photoshoot-ready winter wonderland.

      Our living room boasted an eight-foot, flocked Balsam-fir tree and a 100-foot long vintage train set that circled the edge of the ceiling, with holiday music, pinecones, and string lights in every direction. With Christmas a week away, I could not escape one thing—the fifth anniversary of my father’s death. Arthur Art Amana died on the twenty-sixth of December five years ago.

      The sight of his body becoming a deflated flesh bag, was etched in my mind. He had transformed into an unpicked grape on a vine. I often wondered what I had done to deserve such horrifying memories. After years of separating myself from his church, I prayed again when he died—one last time. I waited for a reason. I needed to know why he died alone with no family around. I heard nothing like usual. 

      My father was a vibrant, stubborn man. He was opinionated and had a zest for life. He was someone who could sell water to a well; he was just that personable and persuasive. He often had the loudest, most unpopular opinion in our neighborhood barbershop, and somehow, everyone agreed with him by the time they left. 

      Sometimes I don’t know if my grief, which sometimes feels like anger, stemmed from watching cancer suck the life out of him or if it was actual rage. Rage at the reality that Dad didn’t tell anyone about his fatal diagnosis. As his son, I felt like I was entitled to that information. One day he was here; the next, he was gone.

      Grief has schizophrenic qualities. Some days, I woke up awkwardly feeling relieved that the old man was dead. Relieved that I didn’t have to listen to him rant about how the world was going to hell. I didn’t have to listen to him handpick scriptures about whatever he was going through that day. I didn’t have to pretend like listening to a seventy-something-year-old’s desire to grope a twenty-year-old college girl in his

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