And in my own stupid way, it had to be not when he was angry at me for something, but when I was angry at him. I should fight back, but I'm a coward, and I could only blindside him when he is seemingly at his happiest -- for example, on his birthday.
He told me an appraiser was going to come by on Tuesday, and he wanted me to lawn and make the place look nicer. I don't know how mowing the lawn will increase the value of the house, but he told me ahead of time, so I didn't sweat it. It meant I couldn't register for this class I wanted to take in the mornings, but I didn't know if I wanted to, anyway.
But today, he comes home and tells me to put my shoes on because we're going outside for some yardwork. I was tired, I wanted to rest for the Stanley Cup Finals Game 7 (and by the way, even though it was a fantastic finish, I hated that the Penguins won. I'm Original Six all the way, and I'm still pissed at that fucking team for beating my North Stars in '91), and now I'll probably fall asleep once the game's over and, worst off, the Death Of Analog I want to witness at 11:59. But I go out anyway ... and pull weeds, or what My Fucking Father thinks are weeds, for 75 minutes. He's going to put new sod on our lawn. Well geez, thanks for telling me!
I was a half-awake frayed wire, a still-slumbering volcano that was about to explode. I just kind of lost it at dinner, when dad wanted to shoot the shit about the NBA Finals game last night. I just answered him curtly. He sensed I was getting pissed, and instead of asking why I was acting like this, he wondered why I couldn't answer him nicely. Nicely? Nicely?!?!?! You've always fucking snapped at me when I ask you a question!!! Fucking hypocrite.
So I finally just fuckin' let him have it. Why can't I just eat in peace? Why do you have to wonder why I'm in a bad mood? Why couldn't you tell me about this shit yesterday or earlier today? Why can't you be a better father? We went toe-to-toe, although My Fucking Father -- and then My Fucking Mother, who wanted to jump in, even though it wasn't any of her goddamn business -- didn't make any goddamn sense, so I won. He just shut up, and I ate my food, and he left. Happy Birthday, Pop.
It wasn't just about pulling weeds. And it wasn't just about being told to pull weeds as if it's no big deal, though it is. Tonight was a combination of a lot of slights towards me, a lot of not knowing and not caring about my feelings, and telling me where to go without giving me time to prepare nor a reason why we're doing it. I still don't fucking know if this new sod's going to work. Shit, I don't even know if he knows how to put this in. I just don't know the reason. I wished he would've told me this sooner. I wish he would've told me of a lot of things sooner.
And of course I'm going to wake up in several hours to put this sod in. I've said my piece. He's still a wrong asshole. But he needs help. Besides, he did tell me he was going to do this ahead of time. ...
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