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Daddy Dearest
Sep. 24th, 2001 11:04 pmMy father is a spy. I've been saying that for so long that I can't remember whether it started as a joke or a serious accusation; all I know is that over the years it's generated countless monologues and even a short silent film while the audience has continued to pile up. Consider:
He owns mugs and business cards reading only "CIA". He claims this stands for the somethingorother of internal auditors. Nevertheless, he refuses to tell any of us what he actually does as an "auditor." All I have to go on is a book on computer crime he once lent me, in which all the protagonists were with the CIA, the FBI, or the NSA. He's aquainted with most of them. I've also borrowed some cryptography handbooks without telling him.
I have, however, visited his office, (wherein I doodled on all the whiteboards). Place is creepy. Half a dozen security card readers. Signs on all whiteboards invoking people to erase all information after meetings, lest it fall into the hands of the enemy. Alarms sound if a door is left open or an electrical outlet is used without authorization.
Let's not even discuss his knowledge of foreign intelligence services. Instead, why not contemplate his training in Silva mind control techniques, exercizes which allow him to manipulate his heart rate, breathing, and internal temperature -- not to mention alpha wave production. Admittedly, I don't find this especially odd, since I do much the same thing and so does Uncle Rex; Mom grew two inches taller just because she felt like it. What I do find damning is that his second in command of some fifteen years underwent the same training.
Furthermore, one must consider that he spent much of the cold war "on business trips" but settled down and switched companies following the fall of the USSR. Even so, we sometimes get calls on a telephone line we don't have. Other times, his office calls us electronically and threatens dire consequences if the voiceprint doesn't match.
The reason I mention all this now is that we think Dad got promoted. He didn't tell us, but someone from the office congratulated him in an unguarded moment. Whenever I ask him about it, he quickly changes the subject in such a way that most people think he's given an answer. He hasn't.
My dad. What a guy.
He owns mugs and business cards reading only "CIA". He claims this stands for the somethingorother of internal auditors. Nevertheless, he refuses to tell any of us what he actually does as an "auditor." All I have to go on is a book on computer crime he once lent me, in which all the protagonists were with the CIA, the FBI, or the NSA. He's aquainted with most of them. I've also borrowed some cryptography handbooks without telling him.
I have, however, visited his office, (wherein I doodled on all the whiteboards). Place is creepy. Half a dozen security card readers. Signs on all whiteboards invoking people to erase all information after meetings, lest it fall into the hands of the enemy. Alarms sound if a door is left open or an electrical outlet is used without authorization.
Let's not even discuss his knowledge of foreign intelligence services. Instead, why not contemplate his training in Silva mind control techniques, exercizes which allow him to manipulate his heart rate, breathing, and internal temperature -- not to mention alpha wave production. Admittedly, I don't find this especially odd, since I do much the same thing and so does Uncle Rex; Mom grew two inches taller just because she felt like it. What I do find damning is that his second in command of some fifteen years underwent the same training.
Furthermore, one must consider that he spent much of the cold war "on business trips" but settled down and switched companies following the fall of the USSR. Even so, we sometimes get calls on a telephone line we don't have. Other times, his office calls us electronically and threatens dire consequences if the voiceprint doesn't match.
The reason I mention all this now is that we think Dad got promoted. He didn't tell us, but someone from the office congratulated him in an unguarded moment. Whenever I ask him about it, he quickly changes the subject in such a way that most people think he's given an answer. He hasn't.
My dad. What a guy.
