Awwwww... memories
Here it is, one week since I turned 34 and I was thinking back to my 14th birthday. We were on Guam and I as about to start school at a private, BAPTIST school. Apparently mama was worried about me going back to public school there.
Probably because they sucked and the locals really hated white kids.
Anyway, as I was leaving the bathroom my dad comes up to me a couple of days before my birthday and kind of squares off in front of me, blocking me from going around him.
"So, son, what do you want for your birthday?" he asked, a smile on his face that went all the way up until his eyes were all crinkly.
"Uh, gee, um," I stammered. I was caught off guard since Mama was the one who usually handled such things. Dad was the one who would see something he thought was just cool looking and buy it. This was how I got so man of the comics with the shiny and die cut covers or dolls that did the neat stuff... even though they weren't series or characters I followed or cared about. "I don't really care, Dad. Whatever you get me would be great."
This was a true statement. I love free shit. Always have. But Dad didn;t seem to like the answer. He reached up and slapped my face. Not too hard but enough to make my head move, impressive for a guy that barely weighed a hundred pounds but was 7 inches taller than me.
"What do you want?" he asked again, still smiling.
"I said I don't care," I said while rubbing my cheek.
SLAP! This time he hit me a little harder.
"What do you want for your birthday?" The smile was still there but it didn't extend up to his eyes anymore.
"Ow!" I exclaimed. I was in shock. Dad never, ever hit. That was mom's job. I tried to get around him but he moved to block me. "Damn it, I'm serious! It isn't that important! Just get me whatever you want!"
I was breathing heavy and my cheek was still stinging no matter how much I rubbed it. I tried to fake him out in my best impression of a football player but he wouldn't fall for it. He looked me in the eye and POW!... he punched me in the stomach.
"Oof," was all I could manage as the air left my lungs. I doubled over slightly and looked back up.
"What do you want for your birthday?"
"I want you to quit fucking hitting me, damn it!!!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
My dad turned and started to walk away before stopping and looking back.
"Happy birthday," he said with that smile back on his face.
And people wonder why I am the way I am.
Probably because they sucked and the locals really hated white kids.
Anyway, as I was leaving the bathroom my dad comes up to me a couple of days before my birthday and kind of squares off in front of me, blocking me from going around him.
"So, son, what do you want for your birthday?" he asked, a smile on his face that went all the way up until his eyes were all crinkly.
"Uh, gee, um," I stammered. I was caught off guard since Mama was the one who usually handled such things. Dad was the one who would see something he thought was just cool looking and buy it. This was how I got so man of the comics with the shiny and die cut covers or dolls that did the neat stuff... even though they weren't series or characters I followed or cared about. "I don't really care, Dad. Whatever you get me would be great."
This was a true statement. I love free shit. Always have. But Dad didn;t seem to like the answer. He reached up and slapped my face. Not too hard but enough to make my head move, impressive for a guy that barely weighed a hundred pounds but was 7 inches taller than me.
"What do you want?" he asked again, still smiling.
"I said I don't care," I said while rubbing my cheek.
SLAP! This time he hit me a little harder.
"What do you want for your birthday?" The smile was still there but it didn't extend up to his eyes anymore.
"Ow!" I exclaimed. I was in shock. Dad never, ever hit. That was mom's job. I tried to get around him but he moved to block me. "Damn it, I'm serious! It isn't that important! Just get me whatever you want!"
I was breathing heavy and my cheek was still stinging no matter how much I rubbed it. I tried to fake him out in my best impression of a football player but he wouldn't fall for it. He looked me in the eye and POW!... he punched me in the stomach.
"Oof," was all I could manage as the air left my lungs. I doubled over slightly and looked back up.
"What do you want for your birthday?"
"I want you to quit fucking hitting me, damn it!!!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
My dad turned and started to walk away before stopping and looking back.
"Happy birthday," he said with that smile back on his face.
And people wonder why I am the way I am.
posted by wmjwatson at 6:15 PM
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