"It went on bloody year after bloody year."
It didn't make a damn bit of difference. Not a damn bit.
Dad heard nothing I said last night. We talked about it this morning, and I could tell Dad didn't hear what I said last night.
Then, he had the audacity to tell me that yelling would not be tolerated. See, I wouldn't have a problem with that if what had happened back in May had not happened.
"If the choice came between choosing you and choosing them, I'd say fuck them! FUCK THEM ALL!"
"That's not the problem!"
And still. Not a damn bit of difference.
I apologized to them for bringing it up. I intend to call Amy today and apologize to her as well.
My dad and I used to have this thing. Every Sunday morning, I'd wake up before him, then go wake him up. Gracie (our cat) would be wrapped around his head. I wake him up and he'd get up and make breakfast. If it was biscuits, I'd get to eat the remainder of the dough at the bottom of the bowl. If it was pancakes, I'd get to sample the batter and give it my stamp of approval. that was extent of my assistance with breakfast. The huge, greasy breakfast would be ready and I'd set up TV trays and napkins. Then, we would plop ourselves down in front of the TV and watch a Star Trek movie, or some other space-themed movie. Mom would usually wake up halfway into it, come out, ignore the mess in the kitchen and grab a bowl of cereal. Then, she'd either join us or go read. We'd finish breakfast long before the movie was over. After the movie, we'd clean off our trays and Dad would clean up the kitchen while I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and combed my hair. The rest of the day would be whatever.
We called it Space Spectacular Sunday.
I miss that.
-Josh G.
Dad heard nothing I said last night. We talked about it this morning, and I could tell Dad didn't hear what I said last night.
Then, he had the audacity to tell me that yelling would not be tolerated. See, I wouldn't have a problem with that if what had happened back in May had not happened.
"If the choice came between choosing you and choosing them, I'd say fuck them! FUCK THEM ALL!"
"That's not the problem!"
And still. Not a damn bit of difference.
I apologized to them for bringing it up. I intend to call Amy today and apologize to her as well.
My dad and I used to have this thing. Every Sunday morning, I'd wake up before him, then go wake him up. Gracie (our cat) would be wrapped around his head. I wake him up and he'd get up and make breakfast. If it was biscuits, I'd get to eat the remainder of the dough at the bottom of the bowl. If it was pancakes, I'd get to sample the batter and give it my stamp of approval. that was extent of my assistance with breakfast. The huge, greasy breakfast would be ready and I'd set up TV trays and napkins. Then, we would plop ourselves down in front of the TV and watch a Star Trek movie, or some other space-themed movie. Mom would usually wake up halfway into it, come out, ignore the mess in the kitchen and grab a bowl of cereal. Then, she'd either join us or go read. We'd finish breakfast long before the movie was over. After the movie, we'd clean off our trays and Dad would clean up the kitchen while I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and combed my hair. The rest of the day would be whatever.
We called it Space Spectacular Sunday.
I miss that.
-Josh G.