Thanks Mom, Part II

He took that personally, apparently. It was almost amusing to see him get angry. It doesn’t bother me to piss him off when I’m driving. He gets erradic when he’s driving angry. I’m a good driver no matter what my mood. Mom can attest to this. So, seeing he was obviously angry, I tell him that I was obviously joking. I was being sarcastic. Oh man, he says this to me so many times I’m surprised I don’t have dreams about it.

You can talk this way with your friends, but you can’t talk that way with me.

I hear it so much, I can’t take it seriously anymore.

I’m your father.

Yeah, I know that, am I supposed to immediately respect you because of this title you were given when I was born?

I’m your FATHER.

What, are you trying to convince me or something?

(This isn’t what I said. It’s merely a reaction.)

I forget exactly what I said as a lead-up, but I said this, “You’re not special. Nobody’s special. Not you, not me, nobody’s special.”

Oh man, that really set him off. Apparently, he didn’t like his little world of him being God of the family being challenged. Mom’s so right. He wants to be his dad. He wants to be friends with everybody. He wants everybody to admire his children. He wants his children to think he’s fucking God. Sorry, pal, I can’t be what you expect of me. I know enough not to argue with Mom’s dad (she trained me to just say “yes, of course, Grandpa”), but I have absolutely no problem standing up to my dad. He can really get set off sometimes, he’ll yell, but one thing I’ll give him is that he’s not really violent.

He started saying how you can’t be offensive with people? I forget. I was so thinking of Open Diary. Oh heck, I don’t remember the order. I said that “I’m going to be as fucking offensive as I fucking want.” Or something shocking like that. Do keep in mind that I’m still driving, keeping an eye on traffic as I make a right onto route ten, check traffic behind me, signal left, and get in the left lane so I can make a left at the next light. That’s multitasking. : P

I hit his ego, I know I did, and that’s why I kept at him. If Wendi was in The Van, she SOOO would have smacked me upside the head. She used to do that. Poke me or yell at me to stop a fight. With her in Alaska (Actually, she’s making her way back now. She might be in the middle of Canada now.), I’ve had nobody to stop me from shooting my mouth off. In retrospect, it wasn’t the words themselves that were a big deal. It’s like I explained to my mom later. It’s philosophical. We aren’t special. While we were going at each other, I so wanted to quote Fight Club. You are not a unique snowflake. We are the all-singing all-dancing crap of the world. We are all part of the same compost heap.

So, Dad threw a fit and he said he didn’t want ME ruining their “evening”. As if going to Pizza Hut is a big deal. There was some confusion as to who was leaving. I was content to let them go out. I was going to back the van into the parking spot when Dad flew out of the slider and .. I forget. We waited until he was a few feet away and looked at each other. Mom and I.

I immediately started apologizing to mom. I told her that I shouldn’t have said what I said. I egged him on. I antagonized him. My adrenaline was going, but I wasn’t letting it show that much. I calmly drove off, Mom and I talked. I apologized to her because she’s going to get it because of me. He always bitches at her for whatever we do. Why doesn’t he GOTO bed at a normal time like normal people do? Newsflash: 9 PM is NOT normal. I don’t know what your normal is, but I don’t want it. Why does he always wear that hat? I like the hat. He’s the only person I know who doesn’t understand why I wear the hat.

Actually, Mom had her own quarrels with him. She thought she had a doctor’s appointment today. Apparently, she copied it to the calendar wrong? For whatever reason, Dad bitched all the way home. Who cares, it’s just gas? At least they know where it is now. Oh yeah. Doctor. From what Mom told me, I’m guessing she’s trying out a new MS doctor. So she copied it down wrong. Who cares? Mom told me that this is the second time she’s tried to get him. The first time, Dad got home a half hour late. I mean, the appointment was at say 3:30, and he got there around 4 PM. What the fuck? As Mom put it, he seems to think you can just waltz in.