“In hindsight, I think it was a mistake to tell you that story,” said the skeleton.

What?  That’s my favorite story of all the stories you ever told me.  

“Well, putting it in the context of your life, maybe not such a good story to be your favorite,” said the skeleton.  “I think it had a disproportionate impact on your work ethic.  Sekhnet made a reference to that the other day, poor exhausted Sekhnet, telling you that your parents had done you no favors by instilling no sense of responsibility in you, no work ethic.”

Not fair.  She was exhausted, and although she stuck to her guns about my deplorably casual work ethic, I also eventually forced her to start back pedaling a tiny bit, parsing my clever distinctions.

“But there was a certain uncomfortable truth there, too.  Admit it,” said the skeleton.  

Fine.  But it’s still a great story, no?  

The dog comes upon the starving wolf on a country road.  The dog says “man, you look like shit… what happened to you?”  

The wolf says the hunting has not been going well, he hasn’t eaten in a few days and he’s starting to get weak from hunger.  The dog says he’s got food back at home, more than he can eat, invites the wolf back to eat as much as he wants, all ready and waiting for him in a big bowl.  With plenty more where that came from.

They trot off.  After a moment that wolf notices some fur rubbed away, the skin showing on the dog’s neck.   He slows down, the dog slows down.  The wolf asks the dog what’s up.

“‘What is that?  You got psoriasis or something, how did your neck get that way?’,” said the skeleton. 

The dog laughs and says it’s nothing.  Must have gotten some fur rubbed away by the collar.

“The wolf slows down even more, says ‘the collar?’  The dog says, ‘oh it’s nothing, it’s a ring that goes around your neck for the leash’,” said the skeleton.  

“The leash?” says the wolf in horror, stopping completely.  

“The dog shrugs nonchalantly and explains that the leash, which attaches to the collar, is like a rope tied to a tether in the ground so that he can’t run off while he’s guarding the house all day, but that they let him off the leash to eat, and get a little exercise, and that in exchange for wearing leash and collar, and working all day, he gets all the food he wants and so forth.  The wolf pictures this, looks at the dog in despair and begins backing away,” said the skeleton.  

“Where are you going, man?  I got food, you’re starving.  What the hell are you doing?” asks the dog. 

“The wolf says ‘I appreciate the offer, my brother, and your generosity… but… I….,’ and he lopes off back into the wild,” said the skeleton with a faraway look.  

It was that faraway look that sealed the story for me.  I saw the longing in that story, how you were wishing for me a life of freedom you could never imagine.  I heard a world of possibilities for a higher truth in that story.  It did more to form me than any other single story I can think of.  

“It fucked you up, man,” said the skeleton.  “There are certain stories it behooves you not to take too seriously, no matter how passionately they were told to you, no matter how deep and aching the longing they expressed.”  

Now you fucking tell me, dad.