June 26, 2012
I offer you my chair
My invisible chair
I offer you my pillow
My invisible pillow
I give you my heart
My invisible heart
You take it and run, run, run far away
Levitate, meditate and run
Playing checkers and run
Watching TV and run
Run
I offer you my sunlight
Moonlight too
Invisible sun and moon
I offer you my organs
Before I even die
Invisible organs
You take them and run, run, run far, far away from me
Lactate, eviscerate and run
Playing solitaire and run
Watching Foreign films and run, run, run
Run

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Posted by richhillenjr
June 22, 2012
NOTE: This is an excerpt from the book I wrote way back in January 2018 and published in May 2020.
Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream page 87-89
How Jocko and his teamster pal Buck got over the scrap of indigo blow snort gavel, only a real scientist will tell. Examine them closely and you would never know they were table beef survivors. The tracking devices made them look cool and even lowered their temperatures but they were being watched. Every skip and jump over the sand dunes were known by Kaydick Industries.
“Jocko self serving through production of self right bbbbBuck?” Jocko asked with unquestionable certainty.
“Aww knock it off Jocks. We’ve been through this before. These feelings of inadequacy will pass. Drink this.”
Buck passed the chuckle juice to Jocko knowing it would calm him down and in turn calm them both down. Jocko took several swigs and starred into the several sunned blurry sky wishing he were still a civilian and not a runaway ex table beef. The Agency had no use for them but Kaydick Industries followed their moves for the fun of it more than any business matters at hand.
“Feel better now?” Buck asked.
“Yeah. I feel so inspired. Can I piggy back now?”
“You know you’re too heavy but if you need human contact I can ride you. Just remember last time I rode you. You tore a few stitches.”
“It’s ok. Ride me. Ride me.”
The temperature was rising near 1,046 degrees porfeos. Dry heat that humps your glands like a reptile. If you’ve ever been humped by a reptile then you know. They had no choice in a life situation like this but to keep moving. The other side of desert is the town of Gointhaw. They would be safe for a while there. One would think with a population of 456,890 they could get away and not be seen despite the high tech tracking system.
Meanwhile Ralph was helping me with my own problems. The center of my scrotum was unnerved during the last explosion. I needed Ralph’s strong hands to reach inside and “pull the strings” as the motthoppers called it in my day. Not sure of the proper medical procedure’s name. Ralph wasn’t medical. He was physical for sure. He stuck his hands right up in there, you see. And wiggled each finger one at a time until he saw my fantastic grin reaching each ear almost. Chagrin. Ouuuther.
“Thanks. I needed that.” I said.
“Uppers yup. For you I can do fritterpops. Wholesale style. Ya know.” Ralph said.
Now my only agenda was to take photo options for the Agency. They remote wired me for the mission. My brain would freeze as they send a signal telling me when to click the device resembling absolutely nothing like a camera or visual recording device. It was built into my forehead like a third eye yet invisible to the eye. It was under my skin yet the 3 kolopuy length and width lens could actually see from the far away Agency laboratory. The trigger/button was on the side of my nose and only about .006 Kintopuys. It looked like I was scratching my colossal sized honker.
It was a fairly simple routine besides the brain freeze but the Agency was cautious and paranoid so Ralph was by my side in case I ran into any trouble. In some countries and cultures scratching my nose and staring at someone would be considered rude or a primal way of saying “skitter over lipper”. Even an inactive agent like myself could get quite the head banging and artillery action for that. Ralph is there to break up any potential violence like that and multiple other types. He’s a good zoo, ya know, it’s fun to keep him around. He doesn’t need weapons. I told ya what those hands can do with my “problem”.

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Posted by richhillenjr
June 17, 2012
Father’s Day has been an odd day for me through the years as I’m sure that there are many others who could say the same. I was fortunate to have 2 fathers. I didn’t get to share this love until later in life but there were only a few brief years I didn’t have a “father” with me and even then I lived with my grandfather who played the father figure role.
When I was adopted at the age of 11 I had no contact with my biological father for around 5 years or so at this point but I wanted to keep my birth name for some reason. I was proud to be a Junior of a man I had yet to know. I heard good and bad stories from family and even fictional stories from my mentally ill biological mother through the years.
After a year or so of settling in with my new parents I celebrated Father’s Day with my new dad I called by his first name Bill. He raised me trying to be the best father he could and did a decent job despite my already wacky ways. He wasn’t the type to celebrate holidays much Father’s Day wasn’t a big deal. We’d have a more formal meal or go out to eat and I’d get him something but as I got older all it came and went.
In my 20s my biological father came back into my life. It took a couple years to drop our baggage and become friends and it was worth it. Then I had 2 dads. Some years I divided my time and other years I neglected my real father. I give him a lot of credit for hanging in there with me. I haven’t been the best son to him but he tried to be the best father. We’ve been building since. We started slowly but eventually started getting together once a week and did lunch and we kept with it until we both were broke and changed it to once a month and we still get together.
Meanwhile my adopted father was getting sick on and off from 2006 or 7 to 2009 when he finally died. I moved in with my adopted mother and him early 2009 and he died June 19th 2009. I became closer to him than ever before he died and take comfort knowing him better.
I still hung out with my biological father and every year I begin to appreciate him as a father. This past May he took me to Atlantic City for my birthday because it was the closest town with a Hooters. We used to go to Hooters every Monday for luck for over 2 years. Maybe 2. We walked the boardwalk and even the beach that day and I had a lot of fun. We were both relaxed and enjoyed ourselves. I realized later that I was subconsciously reliving my early childhood bonding with my dad at one of the beaches he actually took me too as a kid.
I realized I don’t give him enough credit as a father and all he has done for me through the years since reconnected.
We’re getting together on Tuesday June 19 for lunch to celebrate father’s Day. I realized later that it was the 3-year anniversary of my adopted dad Bill’s death. I think it’s appropriate. They were both great Fathers. Rich Hillen Sr is the underrated one and it’s time to give back whatever I can and be a son.
Happy Father’s Day.

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Blog, Commentary, Dream, Family, Father, Friends, Happy, Love, Mother, Parents, Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged: family, Father, Father's Day, friends, Happy, Love, Mother, parents, prose, Relationships, Rich Hillen Jr, spirituality, Steven Jesse Bernstein, writing |
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Posted by richhillenjr
June 13, 2012

Drag drag drag myself out of the warm covers in the freezing bedroom on a hot muggy day that I don’t don’t don’t want to face just yet. Groggy from all of the action my mind had while I was sleeping. Sleeping can be so tiring sometimes. The memories of my activities fade with each move I make out of the bed and towards the bathroom to release a night full of liquid. Groggy I stumble back in my room to try and pray to my God not yours although they may have met at some Deity convention we don’t know about. I smoke and wonder what would Jesus do if he had these habits of smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. My muzzled pounding thoughts expire to endless words spewing and I have no control. It makes no sense to be this tired and unmotivated and think so fast and too much. Even my God cannot quiet my insides.
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Posted by richhillenjr
June 12, 2012

Now I don’t have it. I had it for a minute there but I lost it. It’ll come back it usually does.
I traveled to a city. New York City. We were visiting a famous Satanist’s home that took up at least four floors of a corner building. There were to be ceremonies and orgies. I was up for anything. I wasn’t there to worship Satan. I was doubtful many of the characters I met were there to worship Satan. We were there for the experiences. A girl came up to me and asked if I was ready for sex with her. I agreed neither excited by her or turned off. She was cute and chubby. Under normal circumstances I would have jumped at the chance to be with her. Some of the people there wore masks and costumes. Goat masks and black robes were the most popular but some wore superhero masks and high class feathered masquerade masks with no clothes or dressed in high society garb. The girl kept disappearing and coming back to me telling me to wait and sit and stand and lay on her bed and her sexual ceremony will start soon. It did. She was pleasant. We snuck about again while she got dressed for a ceremy. We missed the full blown orgy but the stage finale was about to begin and I pulled down my light weight mask to watch.
I lost it again. I know if I look I won’t find it. I’ll just have to relax and see if I get it back. It usually comes back.
Another City. San Francisco. Another building with floor after floor after floor. Another party and more friends I never met came with me for the ride and their kicks. They got ‘em we all did somehow. I kept getting fascinated with the ornaments hanging everywhere. They looked like Voodoo related ornaments. There were pretty young women approaching me left and right telling me about the ornaments and inviting me to the next show and I was worried that I didn’t have enough money and they kept telling me that their shows were of no cost that I have to worry about. One friend wants to leave this party and I show him that I can’t go yet because my shoes are wrong. I was wearing Docksiders with the bottoms ripped apart for some reason. I haven’t worn them in over 20 years. I didn’t want to leave anyway even though there were no orgies here. I wanted to stay and learn. Watch more shows. Meet more pretty girls showing me new ornaments. I felt alive in that building. I felt, dare I say, happy.
It slipped me again. I try fighting this time to get it back. It’s not coming. I remind myself it will. It always does. Then I feel panic that it might not come back this time. Maybe?

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Posted by richhillenjr
June 4, 2012
An Excerpt from my 2010 novel Yellow Socks- Confessions of a Non Don Juan

Skeleton Woman or Things Like Me Don’t Happen To You
Christ it happened again. Another notch in my “girls that want to be my friend” belt. It made sense. We were perfect friends and she was real cute too. I kept thinking that I was ok with it. I’d be happy just being a friend again. I keep turning to God for strength to accept my fate as “Friend to all women” that I’m attracted to. My acceptance level seems to be ok. I go to my happy place. I go to my cave. I say the serenity prayer over and over I am sure that I will be ok with this. Yes I will. (no I won’t)
Cut to a scene from Fight Club
TYLER
Stop it! This is your pain — this is your burning hand. It’s right here! Look at it.
JACK
I’m going to my cave. I’m going to my cave to find my power animal!
TYLER
No, don’t deal with this the way those dead people do. Come on
!
JACK
I get the point, ok, please!
TYLER
No, what you’re feeling is premature enlightenment.
Ok. I get the idea. Feel the pain. Feel the hurt. Feel the rejection saturating my heart until I bleed more than just these words all over the place and finger my open sore of a brain as it wants to dwell on her over and over again. Screaming and roaring her name with anger and grief and sometimes a slight relief that it’s done and I know that she will not reject me again unless I go back for more and more or less or a little bite of her cheeseburger and a sip of her Pepsi to tide me over until the next one comes along with better food and spirits for my, for me for. Four scores of seven years itch as I scratch the weathered tired out mongrel of an ego that was left stray years ago in a pound for wayward hearts and letches that can only love and never be loved.
The pain of being a friend. A friend. I’ve heard that “Let’s just be friends” millions of times in my life as I gargle a new mouthwash and toothpaste hoping my breath will be the answer to my problem. My problem is as follows: me, myself and I. We altogether are the problem. We want to be loved so bad that we give off the vibe that scares the shit out of women so they just want to be friends. Friends. Friends. I think to myself that will be fine. Friends is ok. It’ll do. I can accept that. Bullshit! Feel the pain I tell myself. Embrace it. the pain is your friend. To hurt is to be alive. I’ve never been so alive. I’m alive. So alive.
“Did you ever hear about the skeleton woman?” Morton asked.
“Was that a Glam rock band from the seventies?” I ask.
“Ha. Ha. Nah. It’s an ancient Indian story. This guy was fishing in the middle of a lake. He was totally into it. He was relaxed. Not a care in the world except catching the next fish. All of a sudden he feels a tug on his line and he yanks it up. A skeleton appears on his line. He doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line and he gets scared. He starts paddling his boat away from it but it follows him. He still doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line. He gets out of his boat and runs into the village and he is carrying his fishing rod and the skeleton is still right behind him. He jumps into his Tee Pee and it follows him in. He lies down and tries to hide not looking at it for a while. When he finally turns to look at the skeleton it has changed into the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She is his. The moral of the story is that he was minding his own business doing something he enjoyed and that’s when the right woman came along. In other words when you are not looking for love is when it will find you. ”
“I know that but it’s so fucking hard to stay focused on other things without thinking about how much I want to be loved. Fall in love. Ya know?” I responded.
“I know. I know.” Morton said.
“We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.” Tyler Durden
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Angels, Bands, Beer, Bipolar Disorder, Blog, Dream, Email, Excerpts from Yellow Socks, Exploitation, Fiction, Friends, Funny, Living the Dream, NJ, Obsession, Pantyhose, Photographs, Self absorbed, Social Networking Sites, Sociology, Spoken word, Ugh!, Work, Writing, Yellow Socks | Tagged: 2010 “Everything dies baby that’s a fact But maybe everything that dies someday comes back Put your makeup on fix your hair up pretty and meet me tonight in Atlantic City” -Bruce Springsteen Mom, 2010 I started writing blogs in 2003 mostly on a social networking site called MySpace. I act like you’ve never heard of the now dying site. It was the beginnings of it’s popularity back then and, 2010 Juan and Carmen I met Carmen and Juan Ramirez in third grade. They were Puerto Rican twins that I started to hang out with. They were School Safeties and I met them in Safety training. Yes, 2010 Share this: Facebook Twitter Press This Like this: Like Be the first to like this post. 1 Comment | Art, 2010 Stalking Cameron Diaz My cigarette fell out of my left hand into the open cement ash can outside the front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I was facing the city. It was only 3:24 pm. A little, 2010 Well the five of us (models and photographer) spend a few fun filled hours today taking photographs for my upcoming novel, 2011 “When one’s in this world, Alcohol, Alcoholism, and writing in a very personal expression. The room at Philadelphia Museum of Art has a room full of eight to ten foot paintings based on Homer’s Iliad. I heard that when Cameron Diaz was here last, ANGER, anti-social, Anxiety, Anxiety attack, art, Art Museum, article, Atlantic City boardwalk, balloons, Bands, beating onboardwalk, Big eyes, Bipolar, Bipolar disorder, blog, blogs, boardwalk, Bob, book signing, Boy George, callmemr, callmemr wordpress, Cameron Diaz, Cameron Diaz is in the Impressionists Exhibit.” Sam said. “Really?” I asked. “Yeah. She’s over there right now.” “How do you know?” “Larry from Visitor Services told me.” Larry was, Cameron Diaz naked, Cameron Diaz nude, Candy, Cartoons, Chainsaw, Charles Bukowski, Charlie Kaufman. I could name a dozen more movies she was in that I liked but I wasn’t all goo goo eyed for her. Yeah she’s hot but she’s just another decent actress. I didn’t feel star struck, childhood, children playing, chocolate, Comentary, Coming of age, commentary, companions, confessions, Confessions of a Non-Don Juan, Crazy, crazy girls, crazy people, crazy women, Cy Twombly, Dancing, dating, Death, Delusional, depression, depression and heartache at the same time wearing me down like a sleepless night of pills and vodka while running a two hour marathon that has no winner only destitute losers that beg for someone to t, Digital art, distortion, docotors, documentary, donkey, Drawing, Dream, dreaming, drink, drinking, Drug addiction, drugs, eating, editing a book, editing a novel, Elephant, emotionally disturbed, etc. I’ve personally experienced the joy and escapism of all of the above. Everything I do is a distraction from someone or something else that bothers me. To be trapped alone with my thoughts is th, everyone that read it so far doesn’t think so. I finally got all of the requirements down for them and Ill hopefully be sending it out soon. I asked a few of my published friends what they think I s, Excerpts from Yellow Socks, family, Father, father's death, fear, feet, Fetish, Fetish art, fetishes, fiction, finished writing a novel, finishing writing a novel, folks, friends, frightened or not.” Louis- Ferdinand Celine It’s true, funny, gambling, games, Gog, gorgeous women, grammar, green art, Happy, Hate, Henry Miller, High Heels, Holly, holy ghost, Hooters and My Ex Twitter Wow. Holistic is all right. Burned some sage around the house and I feel good. 5 days ago It ain't me 1 week ago Click Here Category Cloud Anti-Social Anxiety Art Article Blo, Hooters legs, hopelessness, Horror, How to meet women, how to pick up chicks, Hunter S Thompson, I confess. I want out. Don’t you? Any escape will do. Movies, I decided on the title at the start. I knew how it was going to begin and decided ho it was going to end. I needed to write the middle. You know the book itself. So, I didn’t talk to her but I saw her. Yippy. I stalked down and saw a real life “celebrity” at work. Don’t you think I am great? Aren’t you impressed with me? Don’t you think I am a lot cool, I need a cover design. I had this vision when I finished the book of what I want the cover to look like. After about a month of trying to get a model to get photographed in Yellow Socks I’ve got a c, I want out, I was School Safety responsible for crossing hundreds of other children from one side of the street to the other. I was good at it. Carmen and Juan were pretty advanced street kids. They lived on the, I wasn’t paying attention to my Mom. I missed all of her off color comments and insane rants. I usually blocked her out when she was acting strange. My Dad left when I was six years old. He took me, India, insane, INSANITY, is to go out of it? Whether one’s mad or not, isn’t it, it started as talking about my relationship with my natural parents especially my paranoid schizophrenic mother. The more I wrote this personal stuff I realized that I am going to fictionalize it. Alt, it wasn’t all good. My adopted father was sick and one of the main reasons I moved back in was to help take care of him. Despite his illnesses he was a constant creator of some fabulous art. His art, Japan, Jesus, Jesus’s birthday. He dismissed it. He thought she was just over worked with raising me. All we needed was a vacation. We went to Atlantic City for the weekend. One of the nights we ate at a boardwal, Journals, leg man, legman, legs, loneliness, loony, loony tunes, loss of job, Love, Love addiction, Lust, mad, mad ones, marijuana, masturbation, medication and AA meetings. I started to feel better then the beginning of November 2009 I had a breakdown for a few days. I literally thought I was going ot lose my mind and be institutionalized. I w, meditation, mental illnes, Mental illness, mess, model and other models for the back cover. I still needed a pair of yellow socks. I figured I’d wait until the last minute in typical Rich Hillen Jr style. I did pick up a pair that were the right s, Mother, muggung, music, MySpace, nothing, novaboon.com, novel, Novel reading, Novel. modern art, nude female band, out, pantyhose, Paranoid Schizophrenic mother, patricia araujo, Pervert, Peter McCoy, Philadelphia Museum Art, photo for cover of novel, Photo Shoot, photogragraphy shoot, Photographs | Tagged: blog, Photogrpahy, poetry, porn, prose, psychiatry, publish, read, reading, recite, Relationships, Reviews | Tagged: Atlantic City, Rich Hillen Jr, Rich HillenJr, Romance, Sally, Sam greeted me immediately. “Yo, sarcasm, Schizophrenic Mother, self help, seperation anxiety, Serial Killers, sex, Sex addiction, Sexual encounters, sexuality, sexy zombie girls, shopping, Sleep, sleeping, slug, smoke, Socializing, Sociology | Tagged: a yellow sock hunt, Sociology | Tagged: Alcohol, Sociology | Tagged: Charles Bukowski, sock fetish, socks, solitaire, son, spiritual, spirituality, stalk, stalking, Stalking celebrities, stockings, stories and poetry. It gave me a quick fix. The book was a slow endeavor. It was always in the back of my mind. Year after year I would move up 50 pages or more but I kept putting it on the back burne, SUicide, suit, surely the best thing one can do, surfing the internet, syntax and continuity. It was a slow process that I had to force myself to do. Again my mom bugged me about it. Months went by and I was still editing. “Almost finished. Almost done. Keep going.”, taste, teeth, Television, tits, trauma, trigeminal neuralgia, Vampires, Video | Tagged: Book Reading, Water, we were still stalking the “celebrity”. I pushed forward and got near the Cy Twombly room. I saw the security guard in his place at the entrance to the exhibit. As I walk in I see her. Ccameron Di, weed, White Zombie, wife, Willian S Burroughs, women's socks, Work, Work | Tagged: art, working, Write, writing, writing a book, writing a novel, xrazy men, Yellow Socks, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Another Excerpt from my Novel Yellow Socks- Juan and Carmen September 21, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Damned Yellow Socks: the Biography of a Novel July 10, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Email Subscription You are following this blog (manage). Recent Posts Underground Poets Society of 2012 What a Way to Grieve or How I Spent Memorial Day, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Excerpt from my Novel Yellow Socks – Atlantic City August 26, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Live Reading from my Novel Yellow Socks & a Promo Video December 23, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Photo Shoot July 11, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Stalking Cameron Diaz – Excerpt from my novel Yellow Socks October 13, Yellow SOcks. COnfessions of a Non-Don Juan | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Rich Hillen Jr’s Digital Art February 6, Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan. THis phase is over and next up is the cover design then off to the internet publishing. Due to my lawyer and agent’s advice I am not at liberty to reveal, Zombie girls |
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Posted by richhillenjr
April 1, 2012
I TRY TO IGNORE THE WHISPERS LOUDER THAN THE SCREAMS. IN DREAMS I WALK WITH YOU. You Roy. I AM TRAVELLING. Always traveling. Moving. New apartment. New house. New CCITEE-Y. NEW STATE. STATE OF MIND. Party goers and house warmers and birthday goers and CHRISTmas mass attendees gather. I know some then I know everyone. I am no one. They don’t see me this way. He doesn’t see me this way. She. You.
MR SANDMAN BRING ME A DREAM.. I know you. I love you LOVE! I carry buckets of paint to your house and the party has just begun. I GET NO KICK FROM CHAMPAGNE either Frank, baby. Seven sisters of love pies stare at me and glare at ME AND THAT LOOK. THAT LOOK. IT SENDS CHILLLS DOWN MY SCARS- inside and outside that run against my heart. Let’s get this CHORDETTEONIAN PARTY STARTED MR JIMMY!
I put my arm around Grandmom to say I love you. People STARING. People caring. Empty people fill the crowded party. Acting hearty. Listing their character defects. Last chance. MY DEAD GRANDMOM TURNS HER HEAD AND SAYS “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!”
I wake up smoking and drift back along the sea of asphalt, scraping my fat ass and ripping my favorite dream jeans still wondering what I did. WHAT DID I DO THAT GRANDMOM KNOWS I DID? Was it last summer Jennifer Love?
I am alone. ALONE. MY NEWEST OF THE NEW HOUSES. Sir Raleigh comes with news. I thought he said PRESIDENT REAGAN HAD DIED OF INDECENT IMPLOSURE. I didn’t care until I realized he wasn’t just dreaming about my Dream girl locked in his dungeon TIED UP WITH VINES and THE SISTERS OF REJECTION.
GIVE HIM TWO LIPS OF HATRED AND VIOLENCE. RESTRAINING ORDERS, BRIGHT LIGHTS AND SIRENS.
“SHE’S A COKE HEAD” HE SAYS.
“SHE USED TO GIVE BLOW JOBS TO HERMAPHRODITES.” HE SAYS.
My throat fills with vomit and joy. IN DREAMS I DO COKE WITH YOU.
Stolen emotions and borrowed gifts are shared at the airport and train stations and parking lots and I’M STILL NOT SURE WHICH IS WHICH. IN DREAMS I TALK TO YOU. Us is back and you is cornered and still slip away. Reptilian monkeys bred become bread for the children of Elizabethan peasants but I grab two of them and hand them to the girl with ruby slippers and she vanishes like the Dark Knight into the dark night when she hears Bruno approach.
“I’ll whip you now my pretty and your LITTLE MAN too! Hahahahaha” Bruno yells but not enough to find her. I find her in her Old Kentucky home with three wooden porch steps away and I go into seizures. Jules Vern hides Tu-Tu Hundred Feet Under The Sea Under The Porch. I pass out. DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM –DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM. MR SANDMAN WAKES ME. The ape lizards have grown by the time I reach the inside. The Dark Huntress awaits me wearing a smile and a bra. I am excited to see her but worry about poor Mr Vern. Guilt reddens my pink face knowing that I shouldn’t be THERE. The Queen would be quite jealous and take away my deconstructed addictive Kingdom. SHE IS THERE AND SHE IS THERE. IT WAS A DUBIOUS PLAN OF THE HUNTRESS OF DARK TO HAVE Mr Vern under the porch and watch my web of lies unfold. The evil one IS not Bruno and I NOW KNOW WHAT GRANDMOM KNOWS I DID. I JUST DIDN’T DO IT YET WHEN SHE TOLD ME.
Caught in the trap admiring the salamander gorilla’s ability to change in size determined by the cage they are in. I imagine if they were let loose if they could grow bigger than the entire world. My Darling Queen and my Miss Huntress dance and change clothes despite the height and come out laughing at me and yet forgiving me and I feel a calm as MY DEAD GRANDMOM SAYS “ I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID.”

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Posted by richhillenjr
Father’s Day
June 17, 2012Father’s Day has been an odd day for me through the years as I’m sure that there are many others who could say the same. I was fortunate to have 2 fathers. I didn’t get to share this love until later in life but there were only a few brief years I didn’t have a “father” with me and even then I lived with my grandfather who played the father figure role.
When I was adopted at the age of 11 I had no contact with my biological father for around 5 years or so at this point but I wanted to keep my birth name for some reason. I was proud to be a Junior of a man I had yet to know. I heard good and bad stories from family and even fictional stories from my mentally ill biological mother through the years.
After a year or so of settling in with my new parents I celebrated Father’s Day with my new dad I called by his first name Bill. He raised me trying to be the best father he could and did a decent job despite my already wacky ways. He wasn’t the type to celebrate holidays much Father’s Day wasn’t a big deal. We’d have a more formal meal or go out to eat and I’d get him something but as I got older all it came and went.
In my 20s my biological father came back into my life. It took a couple years to drop our baggage and become friends and it was worth it. Then I had 2 dads. Some years I divided my time and other years I neglected my real father. I give him a lot of credit for hanging in there with me. I haven’t been the best son to him but he tried to be the best father. We’ve been building since. We started slowly but eventually started getting together once a week and did lunch and we kept with it until we both were broke and changed it to once a month and we still get together.
Meanwhile my adopted father was getting sick on and off from 2006 or 7 to 2009 when he finally died. I moved in with my adopted mother and him early 2009 and he died June 19th 2009. I became closer to him than ever before he died and take comfort knowing him better.
I still hung out with my biological father and every year I begin to appreciate him as a father. This past May he took me to Atlantic City for my birthday because it was the closest town with a Hooters. We used to go to Hooters every Monday for luck for over 2 years. Maybe 2. We walked the boardwalk and even the beach that day and I had a lot of fun. We were both relaxed and enjoyed ourselves. I realized later that I was subconsciously reliving my early childhood bonding with my dad at one of the beaches he actually took me too as a kid.
I realized I don’t give him enough credit as a father and all he has done for me through the years since reconnected.
We’re getting together on Tuesday June 19 for lunch to celebrate father’s Day. I realized later that it was the 3-year anniversary of my adopted dad Bill’s death. I think it’s appropriate. They were both great Fathers. Rich Hillen Sr is the underrated one and it’s time to give back whatever I can and be a son.
Happy Father’s Day.
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