2 scoops of ice cream

I’ve prepared so long for this moment that it feels as if I’ve studied into seconds, which then turned into light years for this test to come. I consumed every detail of each step. It took a lot of forward sophistication and dedication, with fear generations behind me, to succeed. And then came the moment of truth; what is truth? What definition lounged inside my cranium of this word and its meaning? Is truth asphyxiating other’s opinion only to prove to them that my opinion weighed heavily over theirs? Or is truth the opinion’s of others we hold so dearly close to us that by no means we could think would do us any harm to believe? I sharpened myself to a fine point on a pencil that when the point was flipped upside down would rise and lengthen outward, creating a slug like streak behind it, with a vertical replica of itself forming in the shape of a cone. A cone containing two scoops of ice cream; two scoops of ice cream! To whom I present, my father and I.

I would like everyone to sponge like and soak in the ending sentences of the first paragraph before continuing into the Broca’s area of my understanding.

I present, my father and I. Both well-raised men with ethics and spirit, both bold men with responsibilities and stubbornness. Both placed on a cone, both a scoop of ice cream. Created by my imagination, nevertheless understanding why both of us were an ice cream scoop nor the comparisons made to each other, the moment had to come where I had to separate from it all. The moment had come, and it came at light speed, collapsing us into reality as I pictured it, held by faith’s fingers and the unsettling rumblings. I had felt myself uneasy and dripping. It was a sunny night, as the gust of uncertainty and pure chance shifted my entire future. The foundation felt unsettled as the cone shifted towards three o’clock, clockwise. Here I was, having felt myself slowly unlock from the identical DNA patterned other half of the other scoop of ice cream. Begging for the feeling to stop, I had hoped it was all a dream, a figment of the imagination. It had fooled me into actuality. It felt as though all of the practice and years of lessons and moments of truth when I cried out “Father, I need you’re help!” was slowly being ripped apart. I held on long enough for the sun to shed the tears from my skin before I became fully unstuck. After two seconds into the future, I was alone in the air, dropping. My thoughts had fell back from light years away into the formula’s that generated its speed, back into the infinite numbers that created time, into the seconds that had ticked to keep time going, and wondered how? How can two flavors of the same shape, ingredient, and taste be apart from each other? As I fell without a parachute in sight, I collided past gravity into the ground and became a different form.

Thanks dad.