I am not sure why I have been thinking about this so much.

The first time I met my father, I was 13. I was what my mother deemed "out of control." She decided that her punishments weren't enough and called my father to come and discipline me in a way she thought would put me in my place.

He walked up to our porch, this stranger, this man who might as well have been dead my whole life. I didn't know who he was at first, and through drags of one of my mothers stolen Marlbros I examined him. He had long, blonde hair that fell out of the bottom of his bandanna and I immediately suspected he was bald underneath that. He wore an ear ring that depicted a full silver skeleton and a flowing white shirt with a draw string at the collar, tight black jeans, and cowboy boots. 

"Who are you?" I asked him, snubbing my cigarette on the bottom of my boot.
"Well, it turns out I am your father."
I fought the urge to yell "NOOOOO!" Like Luke did when he found out about daddy Darth.
But instead, I said, "You look like a pirate."
He laughed. Too loud, and for too long. It annoyed me. 

"Your mom called me and told me you were getting into trouble."
I didn't respond... I was still reeling over the fact that Long John Silver had something to do with my conception.
"She wants me to beat your ass." He said simply.
"...And?"
He looked confused. "And... I mean to."

I squinted at him, "Oh."
There was a long awkward pause where we both tried to figure out what came next. A man who had no experience with disciplining a child, and a child with no frame of reference for discipline. 

We were in a pickle. 

"I guess you should probably get to it, I have shit to do." I said.
"I don't think you are supposed to cuss."
I shrugged.
He walked up the porch steps and motioned for me to stand up, I did, and he sat down in my spot.
"You smell." I told him.
He did his too loud, too long laugh again. "Well I hitch hiked here from down south, I can't imagine I smell like flowers. OH SHIT! That reminds me, these are for you." He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a small bunch of wildflowers, held together by a rubber band.
I took them, they were wilted, and slightly crushed, but I thanked him anyway.
"Alright, better get this over with." He instructed me to lay on my stomach, over his lap, so that my hands were flat on the ground beside him, and my toes touched the other side.
He proceeded to spank me. This was not something new to me, I had been spanked many times in my life by my mother, babysitters, but never in such a strange situation. It was never, "hello, nice to meet you, I am here to beat your ass."
When he was finished, he helped me up and straightened my sweater."Well?" He asked, "What do you think?"

I thought for a second. I analyzed this man who chose to stay away from me my whole life, the man who my mother blamed for all my rebellion, the man who could explain all the alienation I felt from my mother and her family, he was who I got my eyes from. This man who could help me understand.
I crossed my arms and before I turned and went into the house I said, 

"My mom spanks harder."

I heard him laughing as I shut the door, that too loud, too long laugh. I could hear him laughing as he crossed the yard and walked down the street. Too long, too loud.