I have to say that My Fucking Father has been behaving himself ever since he came back home. I thought this is a good thing, so this morning, when I had trouble starting the lawnmower, I felt no trepidation in asking him for help once he got home from his walk around the neighborhood with Mother. He was helpful, too; he told me to tip over the lawnmower and, after pulling out all the dark grass that collected in the well of the blade area, it worked just fine. Father tried to turn this into a Teachable Moment, saying that I need to "maintain the lawnmower, and maintain my body" (wanking motion), but he was really trying to be helpful, so I thanked him for fixing it and for his good intentions.
The frontyard was mowed just fine. In the backyard, where he was tending to the vegetables, My Father told me to wash out the blade well after I got down mowing back there. And so, once I got done, I did -- I tipped it on its side and and used a hose to spray down the well.
Suddenly, Father comes towards me. "Don't tip over the lawnmower like that! All the gas and oil is leaking out of the lawnmower!" Never mind that I didn't see any gas or oil leaking out. Never mind, more importantly, that he fucking asked me to tip the lawnmower not too long before then. And never mind, most important of all, that he never specified how I should clean out the lawnmower. He just told me to do it. And then he had a problem with how I did it. (And I just checked one website: There is absolutely no fucking problem with tipping any mower on its side, or even upside down.)
Then, My Fucking Father said something that he has said a lot of times: "Next time, don't do it." Whenever he tells me to do something, and then I do it in a way that he doesn't like, he tells me not to do it ever again. One strike and you're out, that's my fucking old man. It's just irredeemable, what I did. I'll never learn. It's all screwed up, right, Dad? Of course, you fucking told me to do it in the first place. As always, though, you're always vague about how exactly to do it, but you never take the blame for not being specific enough. It's always my fault. It always is.
This "you're dead to me" mentality after someone screws up -- I think both of my parents have that trait, but I probably got it from My Fucking Father. I have to remember that I got it probably because he has done it to me so fucking often.
Well, I figure that it's easier to remove the grass from inside the blade area once it's dried to cake. I think it's a situation where I should in fact not clean it until it gets so stuck up it prevents the throttle cable from being pulled all the way. But that's not my concern anymore. You see, My Fucking Father believes I can't do anything anymore, so he'll clean the mower from now on.
And because of that, I'm probably on his shit list. His radar, too; as I was leaving he was feverishly cleaning the kitchen. I put the hamper of my dirty clothes between my bed and my bedroom door. I figure that if he thinks I can't do anything right, he'll do me a favor and do my laundry for me. Thanks for taking care of me, pop.
I have to admit -- this one hurts.
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