five-thirty and you've spent the late afternoon looking at your hands. Then what?'
I told him that then my father would come home, from work and, ha ha, Oh, Lord, I could hear him all the way upstairs. 'WHERE IS HE? WHAT'S HE DONE TODAY? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVEN'T SEEN HIM?' Then he'd look in the refrigerator and start yelling, 'GODDAMN HIM. WHERE THE HELL IS THAT LEFTOVER STUFFING FROM LAST NIGHT? GODDAMN IT. HEY YOU UP THERE I'M TALKING TO YOU.'
'That's a very funny impersonation,' Brandon said. 'I mean, I don't know the man from Adam, but I can picture him perfectly. Do more, please.'
'WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM? HERE I'VE GOT A FULL-GROWN SON WHO WON'T FIND A JOB WON'T EVEN LEAVE THE GODDAMNED HOUSE AND COMES DOWN HERE WHEN MY BACK IS TURNED AND EATS MY STUFFING. I WORKED HARD FOR THAT STUFFING. DO YOU HEAR ME? FROM NOW ON THIS KITCHEN IS OFF-LIMITS TO YOU, MISTER. NO MORE FOOD FOR YOU. YOU'LL BE EATING THE INSULATION OUT OF YOUR WALLS BY THE TIME I'M FINISHED WITH YOU, GODDAMN YOU.'
Then he'd come pounding on my door and I'd put on my headphones and listen to records in order to drown him out.
'Did you have a big music library?' Brandon asked.
I told him that I had two records, Uriah Heap's 'Look at Yourself' and 'Don't Look Down' by The Ozark Mountain Daredevils both records I had bought while working at the cafeteria.
'Those are really great records,' Brandon said. We arrived at the hotel and checked in to the room, which was, ha ha, really big, with a living room and a bedroom and curtains and a coffee table. I just couldn't get over it. Brandon went over to the bar and poured us a nightcap and said, 'All right, Don, so you listen to your records then what?'
I explained that I'd listen to the records until after my parents fell asleep, usually around eleven-thirty or twelve, and then I'd go downstairs and see what I could find for supper. After about 1986 my parents would just cook enough food for the two of them, but I could always find a little something. Sometimes it might be just a couple handfuls of raw macaroni or a half-stick of butter, but it was always something. Then I'd root around for change in my mother's purse or under the sofa cushions.
'Every night?'
'Every night, and over the years it really, ha ha, added up. Then I'd watch TV until the regular programming went off the air and the pattern shows came on. I'd watch maybe a few hours of the pattern to clear my mind and then I'd go to bed and start all over again the next day.'
Brandon offered me a lit cigarette and looked down at his nightcap, asking, 'Why did you leave, Don? Why?'
I told him I left the day after my father put padlocks on the refrigerator and all the kitchen cabinets. At that point I counted my change, scratched and ripped up every piece of furniture in the house, and walked out the door to meet my destiny.
Brandon shook his head and said, 'Don, this story has every thing. '
And I signed a contract that very night. It was just that simple just the way I always thought it would be.
And I'd like to thank Brandon for recognizing my abilities and giving me complete artistic control from casting right on up. I'd like to thank Uriah Heap and The Ozark Mountain Daredevils for providing the musical score. I'd like to thank all the members of the academy for their votes but, most of all I'd like to thank the citizens of this country for making Don's story the number-one top box office draw that it is because, let me tell you, academy or no academy, it is your continuing support, loyalty, and devotion that make this award so heavy and meaningful. Certain people might be watching this broadcast with rage and jealousy certain people who have mistreated and underestimated me are probably wishing they had the chance to take it all back and start over again with a fresh slate but I'm afraid it's too late for that. It's something I wouldn't mind talking about but I see our host off to the side of the stage pointing to his watch and so I'll take that as a hint and say good night, thank you, I love you.
SEASON'S GREETINGS TO OUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY!!!
MANY of you, our friends and family, are probably taken aback by this, our annual holiday newsletter. You've read of our recent tragedy in the newspapers and were no doubt thinking that, what with all of their sudden legal woes and 'hassles,' the Dunbar clan might just stick their heads in the sand and avoid this up-coming holiday season altogether!!
You're saying, 'There's no way the Dunbar family can grieve their terrible lossand carry on the traditions of the season. No family isthat strong,' you're thinking to yourselves.
Well, think again!!!!!!!!!!!!
While this past year has certainly dealt our family a heavy hand of sorrow and tribulation, we have (so far!) weathered the storm and shall continue to do so! Our tree is standing tall in the living room, the stockings are hung, and we are eagerly awaiting the arrival of a certain portly gentleman who goes by the name 'Saint Nick'!!!!!!!!!!!!
Our trusty PC printed out our wish lists weeks ago and now we're cranking it up again to wish you and yours The Merriest of Christmas Seasons from the entire Dunbar family: Clifford, Jocelyn, Kevin, Jacki, Kyle, and Khe Sahn!!
Some of you are probably reading this and scratching your heads over the name 'Khe Sahn.' 'That certainly doesn't fit with the rest of the family names,' you're saying to yourself. 'What, did those crazy Dunbars get themselves a Siamese cat?'
You're close.
To those of you who live in a cave and haven't heard the news, allow us to introduce Khe Sahn Dunbar who, at the age of twenty-two, happens to be the newest member of our family.
Surprised?
JOIN THE CLUB!!!!!!!
It appears that Clifford, husband of yours truly and father to our three natural children, accidentally planted the seeds for Khe Sahn twenty-two years ago during his stint in. . where else?
VIETNAM!!!!
This was, of course, years before Clifford and I were married. At the time of his enlistment we were pre- engaged and the long period of separation took its toll on both of us. I corresponded regularly. (I wrote him every single day, even when I couldn't think of anything interesting. His letters were much less frequent but I saved all four of them!)
While I had both the time and inclination to put my feelings into envelopes, Clifford, along with thousands of other American soldiers, had no such luxury. While the rest of us were watching the evening news in our safe and comfortable homes, he wasmaking the evening news, standing waist high in a stagnant foxhole. The hazards and the torments of war are some-thing that, luckily, most of us cannot begin to imagine and, for that, we should all count our blessings.
Clifford Dunbar, twenty-two years ago, a young man in a war-torn country, made a mistake. A terrible, heinous mistake. A stupid, thoughtless, permanent mistake with dreadful, haunt-ing consequences.
But who are you, who are any of us, to judge him for it? Especially now, with Christmas at our heels. Who are we to judge?
When his tour of duty ended Clifford returned home, where, after making the second biggest mistake of his life (I am referring to his brief eight-month 'marriage' to Doll Babcock), he and I were reunited. We lived, you might remember, in that tiny apartment over on Halsey Street. Clifford had just begun his satisfying career at Sampson Interlock and I was working part-time, accounting for Hershel Beck when. . along came the children!!!!!! We struggled and saved and eventually (finally!!) bought our house on Tiffany Circle, number 714, where the Dunbar clan remains nested to this very day!!!!
It was here, 714 Tiffany Circle, where I first encountered Khe Sahn, who arrived at our door on (as fate would have it) Halloween!!!
I recall mistaking her for a Trick-or-Treater! She wore, I re-member, a skirt the size of a beer cozy, a short, furry jacket, and, on her face, enough rouge, eye shadow, and lipstick to paint our entire house, inside and out. She's a very small person and I mistook her for a child, a child masquerading as a prostitute. I handed her a fistful of chocolate nougats, hoping that, like the other children, she would quickly move on to the next house.
But Khe Satin was no Trick-or-Treater.
