The Shame In Their Eyes

Stories like what happened yesterday is why I started up this blog.  I certainly want to work on my writing in the (increasingly long) hopes of parlaying this into something I can get paid for.  But at the end of the day, Wailing And Failing is about me venting about my life, and how so much bullshit can pile up to the point where I just have to put it down somewhere or else I will explode.

Ran errands for my sister.  When I got home, the parents asked me if the library was still open.  Why?  They want color copies of the passports in case we lose them.  Wow, I didn't think of that.  That's a very good idea!  Sure, I'll go out to the library and get color copies for us.  I'll be right back!

And that's when my adventure began.

But when I got to the library, I couldn't find copiers that make color copies.  Shocking.  Budgets cuts, I assume.  Damn you, Pawlenty.  So I go to the next library I know will have color printers, about 10 minutes away.  But they don't have color either.  I swear I thought they did.

So screw the library.  I go across the street to The UPS Store.  They have color copies.  But when I show them the passports, the guy shuts me down.  Apparently it's illegal.  I always thought you should make copies.  But I guess it's illegal to do them in color, or to have somebody do them for you, or to have someone do it for you without changing the size of it, or something.  The guy was very apologetic, but he had rules he had to follow.  Perplexed, I left.

I left my cellphone in my car because I didn't have any place for it in my pockets.  When I got back to it, there were two missed calls.  'Rents.  Call home; get Father.  Shit.

What do I say?  I think he'd get mad if I told him I went to The UPS Store, so I leave that out.  I told him that I went to two libraries and neither of them had color printing.  Can you believe that?

And this is where the beatings and yelling I took as a kid affects my current choices.  I ask My Father, "What should I do now?" anticipating that he'd get mad.  He says, I think, "Just come home!"  Him speaking so fast (in Chinese) isn't helping me completely understand what he's saying.  So I just come home.

I walk in the door.  Mother's at the top step.

"So, you get the copies?"

"No."

"Not black-and-white?"

"No."

"Why not?"

And this is an instance that leads me to believe that maybe, possible, I was adopted.  I wasn't being an asshole, I was just doing what I thought she wanted me to do, which was get color copies of our passports.  But I couldn't get them!  So I didn't do anything.  So I said:

"Because you wanted them in color."

I wasn't trying to be a smartass.  I was being matter-of-fact about it.  Maybe I don't get it.  Maybe I have Asperger's Syndrome.  But I detected a slight hint of indignation, even resignation at what her child has become, as she slowly gallumphed back into the kitchen.  Even though I detected it, it didn't change my mood.  Hey, it's what she wanted.

What affected me just a little more -- but just a little -- is seeing My Fucking Father glare at me from the kitchen sink when I reached the top of the stairs.  And then he shook his head as he got back to what he was doing at the sink.  What?  You told me to come home.

When I stopped to think about it, he hates it when we can't start dinner because I'm not home.  He always calls me around dinnertime during the workweek when I'm enjoying coffee.  So maybe he was angry at me for taking 45 minutes for something that shouldn't've taken more than 15.  Or maybe he was upset that I didn't take black-and-white copies of our passports like he thought he told me over the phone.  Who fucking knows; even though I saw his consternation, I didn't think too much of it.  I mean, he told me to come, bottom line.

The weirdest thing about this is that neither parental unit held it above my head.  They talked to me over dinner, civilly, without scorn or sarcasm.  Maybe I underestimated their reaction towards what I did (or didn't do).  Maybe they just let it go.  Or maybe they realized that I am who I am, and just accepted me for who am I.

Wishful thinking, huh?