Happy Fuckin' Father's Day

Been busy. I know it's last week but it's important enough for me to post about this even now.

Maybe I was acting too defensively last Sunday, Father's Day. I'll admit that I wasn't as generous as I could have been. But I'm always keyed up this day because I feel My Fucking Father feels entitled, like this day I owe him something. I do, but he has never, ever made me forget whenever this day rolls around. And I resent that.

I may have fired the first shot when My Father and I both wanted to go through the same tiny space between the TV and the wall that separates the living room from the dining room. I sighed when I got up and saw that Father was going through. I think he heard that and what message that conveyed.

Father seemed frazzled, rushed this evening. Unbeknownst to me, because I don't remember doing this previous Father's Days, we actually went out to dinner. Our next minor squabble occurred, then, as we were about to leave. He was down next to the open front door and asked me if I'm ready to leave. I was already dressed and acting like I was rarin' to go, so I gave threw up my arms, palms up, as if to say, "I don't know, I'm ready, are you?"

The agitation from him, and between us, grew even larger once we got on the road. He was being particularly bossy, such as when he ordered me to turn on the air conditioning. Then, after all this nagging, he told me as we hit the highway to, "Take it easy." I was internalizing all his bitching, so he might not've understood how he was pissing me off, but he was pissing me off.

I knew this was going to blow up once we got to the restaurant -- mostly because I didn't know where the hell we were going. We exited close to the U., at a place close to a restaurant we used to go to, but it couldn't've been this one because that restaurant closed.

We found the place. Unfortunately, we couldn't find parking. And then that's where all the real trouble started: Both my parents were telling me where to go and what to watch out for.

The breaking point between My Fucking Father and I was when I tried to make a right turn and what turned out to be a one-way street. There was all this shouting between all of us right before I had to stop in the face of oncoming traffic, and that's where My Fucking Father just lost it: "What are you doing driving into traffic? Like an idiot?!"

Me driving and being lost gave me the opportunity to finally yell back at him -- "If you don't like how I'm driving, next time you can drive!!!" And so he fell back into his usual whiny and defensive position like a little bitch, saying "OK, OK, OK!!"

And, that was it. We finally found parking and we got in and had dinner. My Fucking Father and I sat across from each other, yet we only looked at each other once: When I took the bill and took out my wallet to pay.

Weirdly enough, he acted like nothing happened after we got back home. He wanted me to look something up on the Internet. Didn't you call me an idiot two hours ago? And now you're acting like nothing happened?? What are you, an idiot???