It's obvious now that My Fucking Father is using the vegetable plants that are growing in the backyard to humiliate me.
A week or so ago my parents were outside watering and tending to them when I came outside too. The tomato plants are growing nicely, as are the others; the other vegetables they're growing escape my mind. Walking back inside the house, My Father had to say, "If you put your mind to something, you can do it," obviously referring to his wish for me to go back to school.
Then either Saturday or Friday, after I woke up and was heading to my old bedroom to fetch my laptop, My Fucking Father was standing on the threshold of the door to the back deck. I assume he was looking at the garden to make sure that, oh, a rabbit didn't come and eat the plants. "You should come see the plants, they're getting big now," I think he said, although I could have remembered it wrong because I just woke up. But as I was about to go see for myself, My Fucking Father tsk-tsked like he does by pursing his lips together and scolded me: "Why don't you put your glasses on first!" I fucking just got of bed, asshole! You want me to look at your tomatoes, but then you don't want me to look at your tomatoes! What the fuck's a matter with you? (I should add a disclaimer: I don't really know for sure what he said.)
Then there was yesterday. Unlike what I thought they would do, my parents did not ask for me to sit down with them for lunch. Instead, they were outside. Well, Mother was doing something on the back deck. I planned on eating lunch with them, but since they didn't plan anything, Plan B -- eating at Burger King -- was put into effect. So I just packed up my computer and said goodbye to her. Turns out My Fucking Father was downstairs. Instead of going downstairs to say goodbye to him, I just went to my car. I know better now.
I had to dump a City Pages in the recycling bin. Thought I'd look at the plants back there, too. After I tossed the paper I walked to the backyard. Just then, I heard My Fucking Father talking with Mother on the deck. Did he just bolt up from downstairs like The Flash? Did he go upstairs because I left? Most importantly of all: Should I look at the plants now that My Fucking Father is there?
Seriously, I was at the crossroads. I really thought it'd be best if I avoided My Fucking Father by doing a 180 and walking back to my car. But no, I thought, what's the worst that could happen?
So I did what I intended to do: March up to the tomato plants and admire how big they're getting. And they are getting big, though they haven't turned red yet. My Fucking Father obviously saw me: "They're getting big now, aren't they?" he said. "Yep," I replied, and I headed back out.
But then that fucking son-of-a-bitch had to get one last dig in. "Maybe next year you can water the plants, huh?" He knew that I either can't and wouldn't; he just wants to throw his disappointment back in my face again. That piece of shit had dreams for me, big dreams, and he wanted to remind me of how far he feels I've fallen short of that -- and how miserable he feels about that -- by making me miserable. Mother laughing didn't really help quell the anger rising in me. I left in a huff. I couldn't contain my anger, so that's why I gunned the car when I didn't think it was accelerating as fast as it should, as I said in my previous blog post.
Do my fucking parents know why none of us have kids? Hurtful shit like that. We all grew up under those passive-aggressive insults. Do those two idiots think we're going to pass that abuse down to a next generation? At the very least, the very least, we'll wait until both of you are dead.
Whatever, My Fucking Father didn't want to have us kids in the first place.
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