My Fucking Father And His Goddamn "Lessons"

Seeing him rocking in that rocking chair while listening to classical music I should have known something was off with him.  Guess it took another goddamn spring snowstorm for him to unleash his bad side, fucking again.

Apparently we got 6.4 inches of snow yesterday.  Half a foot!!!  On April 19!!!  Even though I had no work to go to (they didn't know that), I cashed in on my free Tax Day/Week free HydroMassage coupon that I scheduled for 11.  And since my parents would bitch at me for not helping, I woke up at 9:30 to start shoveling.  Goddamn, it was a lot, and unfortunately the street plow came through overnight, so the edge of the driveway had the highest pile of snow, and since it went through the melt-and-freeze cycle because it was out on the street, it's also the hardest to shovel.

I started off down there, alternately picking up a heavy, wet, dirty pile of snow and picking up huge boulders of snow melted together and tossing them like cabers to the side.  I had the most energy starting off, so I might as well tackle the big stuff first.

My Fucking Father, who sauntered out late into my half-hour of shoveling, didn't seem to know or care about that.  After I got the end yard of snow off my driveway, stretching my muscles to the point where, hey, a HydroMassage seemed like a great idea, I warned him that I was going to start my car.  My parents always insist on me starting my car on cold days even though it does nothing to help my car and only wastes gasoline.  Also, even though I did not have to go right that second, best to avoid My Fucking Father when shoveling.

But leave it to him to impart his good ol' "life lessons."  As I did what he told me to do and use the Chinese broom instead of the snowscraper inside my car to get the mound of snow off of my car, he looked down at the snow he was about to shovel and said, in Chinese, "Shovel for a little bit, then shovel a little bit, then shovel."  Or something like that.  I don't know what the fuck that means.  But what was aggravating was that he thought, after 37 fucking winters, I needed a refresher course on how to shovel.  He wasn't there while I was I picking up those fucking heavy boulders of snow that froze together.  If that asshole was telling me I needed to push the snow off to the side -- something he told me back when I was fucking ten years old, something I would do if the snow wasn't so goddamn heavy -- I should have let him deal with the dirty snow at the end of the driveway.  Let's see him push instead of shovel; he would break the shovel first ... unless he got a heart attack first.

What really pissed me off, however, was when I actually had to leave for the massage parlor.  After I fetched my bag and the bottle of water I wanted to bring with me, My Fucking Father stopped me.  And -- my fucking God, I don't think I'm being defensive -- he said to me, "One thing, son: Whenever you see another car covered in snow, you need to take the snow off of that as well."

OH, YOU FUCKING PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE PIECE OF SHIT!!!  YOU HAVE NEVER, NEVER, NEVER SAID THAT TO ME BEFORE EVER!!!  THAT HAS NEVER BEEN SOMETHING YOU CARED ABOUT TILL NOW!!!  WHY?  BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO BE AN ASSHOLE!!!  AND TO DO IT JUST AS I WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE "FOR WORK!!!"  YOU KNOW GODDAMN WELL THAT IF YOU WANTED ME TO CLEAR YOUR CAR (SO YOU COULD GO, UH, NOWHERE BECAUSE YOU'RE FUCKING RETIRED NOW!!!) YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME WHEN I STARTED MY CAR.  TO TELL ME AT THIS FUCKING POINT SHOWS HOW PETTY OF A BASTARD YOU ARE!!!

He said, "Next time, next time," but I know what that asshole meant.  I went back inside and threw my stuff down so I could clean out that baby's minivan.  Or, what I could; you see, it's a minivan, and even though I got most of the snow on the hood and the sides off, I didn't have a chair so I could get the snow that landed on top.  Maybe My Fucking Father would do a better job at it, especially since he has time to do it.  Oh well; as I finally got into my car and left, I saw him glance at the minivan only half-cleaned and I could see him grimace as he went back to shoveling.  If he's going to be passive-aggressive with me, I'm going to be passive-aggressive with him.  I'll give him the satisfaction of manipulating me into doing something he didn't really want me to do that moment, in that, "oh no, you really shouldn't" tone of voice, but after I lull him into thinking he made me do what I wanted, I do a shitty job at it.  That look of disapproval told me he wasn't happy, and therefore that made me happy.

And as a kicker I came back at 6 even though I easily could have come back at 5.  Because fuck him.