So, my father calls.

First time since the politics and religion argument.

And he's drunk. Didn't know for sure at first, but by the end I was quite sure. It's been a while since I've talked to him while he was drunk. About 17 years actually.

That's a lot of years to be able to handle things better the next time. Granted, I think I've only been ready for the last 2, but here I am.

It's like having an out of body experience compared to the old me; he can say what he wants, but nothing affects me, it all rolls off, and he just can't harm me. I'm in total control. That's a new feeling.

One less person who can make me unhappy.

But then he puts his son on the phone. The new son. My replacement.

It's hard to think he's screwing up a whole new generation of child. I guess there's a little consolation in the fact that that kid has both a mother and father, even if the father's a drunk.

But it still gets me. My father still finds a way to get to me, once again.

I talk to the replacement, make smalltalk, ask him what he's doing on his summer off from school. Talk to him about that. It's awkward. (Really, is that a surprise?) For him as much as for me. I want to ask, "Is he always drunk like this?" or "Is he messing you up too?"

What can you really say? He's a stranger. Even with the same father, we have nothing in common.

I tell him to put his father back on. I say the type of stuff even he knows is bullshit; about it being nice to talk to him but it's time for me to go.

I don't need to say I'm hanging up because he's drunk. He knows it, I know it. He asks when I'm going to see him and the replacement son. I say "I don't know, sometime." I say I call. We both know that's a lie, but it's a pleasant fiction to end the night on.

I tell him I'm not interested in hashing up the past, but going forward with a good future. It's one of the few truths spoken.

But it's not going to be with a drunk father. I probably should just spell it out, but I'm too tired and too off-kilter to do it after talking to the replacement son. I guess he wins that one.

It's a pyrrhic victory.

For both of us.