Reality v. Idealism

Keepin' it real.  Real.
WHAT is so great about the truth. The truth is an ugly, complicated, cloyingly bitter baggage that should be dismissed or at least altered whenever possible. So, rum.
But what I'm talking about here is history. I think about my Dad. There are many examples of me slowly becoming my father in my post youth. Some more disturbing than others, but I have this neat little tableau of what my Pop IS, that is probably about ... 40% inaccurate and about 20% absolute bunk. I've made this quasi memory out of the snips of fact and skewed recollections I have half consciously recorded over the years. Who knows how much of it is actually true. I think sometimes that I'm actually blessed with such a Swiss cheese memory. I'm able to fill the holes with whatever I please.