The Sales Man shall rise again

I was talking with my parents last night and we were firming up our Easter plans.  I told my dad that he would not burst into flames upon entering our church.

You see the church our family goes to was introduced to me BY MY FATHER, many, many years ago. He certainly never thought I would become a parishioner back in those days, I was 14.

Well, we did.  And now, the masses are so wonderful that we choose to go there on the BIG Catholic days (and every other Sunday) and since my dad is old school he would rather come with us and be together and bite his tongue than go to church without his family.

Needless to say, when I said that he would not turn into flames, he immediately asked my why I said that and then explained that he had been having some not so great dreams.

When I asked him about them he recounted the most recent.

Your mother brought me to a cancer center to live. EVERYONE was dying.  A whole room full of beds, in the round, all dying.  He didn’t want stay and turned to my mom and said,  I’m not going to stay here but I will certainly sell the service.  Then all of a sudden a large group of Sales Men with thick black hair came out and wanted to talk with him to find out what he knew.

The great thing about this dream, my dad can sell shit off the bottom of his shoe, and if his subconscious is still fighting and selling and trying to teach or beat the guys with the full-thick-heads of hair, then there still is a war worth fighting.

Sell dad sell, as long as you can.

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