My Father (by The Bwaz)

Recently I tried to clean up all the Christmas stuff I got from Grandma Cece. It consisted of 5 big boxes sitting in the middle of the family room. Both Dan and my dad kept asking me when I’d get rid of the mess. I figured I could clean out the walk-in closet that contains about 5 boxes of crap that isn’t mine and it will be perfect. Three of the boxes in the closet are baseball cards that belonged to my brothers when they were kids. One box contains old bills and letters belonging to my dad. And the last one is full of old Surfer and Time magazines. (Because one day my dad might get the urge to dig out this box, unsettle the dust, and read one of the old articles – yeah right!) I got such shit from my father!!!!! “I can’t believe your going to move (all my) stuff into my living room. How inconsiderate of you Laura. Only thinking about yourself.” He gave me such a guilt trip I ended keeping the letters & bills box and the magazine box in there. I think I remember crying during some of the argument too. He can be such an ass sometimes!

As I’m writing this, in obvious deep concentration, my father keeps talking to me from the kitchen. “Laura, did you see what I got? Laura, you bought the wrong kind of soup for me.” I had enough, “Dad, will you please stop talking to me right now. I’m in the middle of writing something.” I screamed. Now, every minute or so, he says, “What Laura? Did you say something?” or “huh, what’d you say?” This has been going on for the past 20 minutes. My Grandma says if I can live with my dad, I can do anything. I think it should be more like… if I end up living with my father for much longer, I’m going to go crazy.