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Yesterday, I googled up a story that cheered me and made me laugh a lot. So, I'm gonna post it on my blog for all you guys to cheer up and laugh now. The story is that great. :)
There are two parts but I'm only going to post the first part cuz it's the better of the two and also the "main" story. Part 2 is more of a follow-up/background explanation thing which I didnt find as amusing as the first.
Brace yourself --
TWO STORIES ABOUT MY FATHER by Tim Hatch
My first car was given to me before I could even drive. I was fifteen years old and my grandfather was looking for a new car and decided that he'd give me his old one since I'd be old enough to drive it soon. Why he couldn't have just waited till after I had my license I'll never know but...whatever. This car was a 1970 Olds Cutlass Supreme; it was a metallic blue-green with a black vinyl top and interior. In the summer you had to wait a few minutes after opening the door before getting in it or else it would bake you. It had a trunk big enough to hold a small orgy in, a front bumper that seated two, and a floor shifter. This car was the anthropomorphic incarnation of sex and, of course, it's still my favorite of all the vehicles I've owned.
Unfortunately, this gift was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, I had a sweet ass car that I didn't have to spend a dime of my own money on. On the other hand, the person who gave it to me was my grandfather, who was, and is, the last person on earth my father ever wanted any kind of help from. I'm sure it occurred to my dad to tell gramps we didn't need the car and that I should buy my own so I'd appreciate it more. But, at the end of the day, that would have created a huge political mess (And aren't family politics just the best kind?) and that was something my dad just didn't have the energy to deal with back in those days. Besides which, it was a cool ass car, and I don't think he had the heart to deprive me of it.
Before continuing, I should point out that my father and my grandfather pretty much despise each other. There are several reasons for this, but it would be a crass waste of time to list them all just for the sake of telling this story. Some background information will help however so, as quickly as possible:
* My father's father (My other grandfather) was a serious piece of shit who beat the holy fuck out of my dad, his brother, and his mom. And when I say, "beat the holy fuck" I don't mean a slap to the face. He used to beat my dad with his old army belt. He lost his job as a P.E. teacher for throwing a kid over a chain link fence.
* My father was a big time alcoholic who, by the time this story takes place, had been sober for five years (he's at twenty two years sobriety now) and was still struggling with that on a regular basis.
* I'm huge, and dad isn't. As an adult, I stand at damn near 7' tall, while my dad stands at 5'11". I've been taller than my father since I was twelve and, by the time this story takes place, I was about 6'6" and weighed over 200 pounds.
So my grandfather gives me this car and it drives my dad crazy. Maybe he felt that gramps was stepping on his toes, maybe he was too proud to want to accept any sort of financial help from a man he couldn't stand, I don't know and honestly, it doesn't matter. What winds up happening is, he starts using the car as a disciplinary tool to keep me in line. Which would have been fine if there'd been some sort of rational thought or application to this practice. That wasn't dad's style, however, and what I got instead were mind games. He'd wait till he overheard me talking about "my" car to my friends and then he'd start shouting, "It's not your car, buddy-boy, it's my car! Oh grandfather might have given it to you, but you're my son and you're under eighteen and that car legally belongs to me and if I want to sell it I can. So you just watch your step or you'll have a driver's license in your pocket and still be walking to school. That what you want?" But then when the car got dirty, he'd wait till I was on my way out the door to hang out with some friends to tell me I couldn't leave till I'd washed my car. "It's your car son, don't you want it to look good? Don't you want to take pride in what you own?" And this went on for months and I got to the point where I just wanted my license so I could drive the fuck away and not come back.
About four or five months before turning sixteen, my mom and dad took a trip out of the country. My grandmother was watching the house / babysitting while they were gone. One night she and the younger kids and my grandfather all went out to dinner, and I stayed home to "keep working on a paper for school." Five minutes after they left the house I was backing my car out of the garage. I just wanted to take my car out for a quick spin. I wanted to drive it so damn bad. I'd already taken drivers education, and had driven a couple other vehicles, so it wasn't a big deal to just take my car out for a spin around the block. And mostly, I wanted to do it because I knew it would piss off my dad. I wanted to throw all that shit about his car versus my car right in his face and somehow, in my goofy ass fifteen year old head, driving my car around the block would accomplish that. So I backed the car out of the garage and drove up to the top of the alley. I turned the wheel to make a left turn and started pulling out onto the street and, at exactly that moment, the power steering goes out and I can't turn the wheel back and I panic and slam my foot down to hit the brakes only I hit the accelerator instead and wrap the front end of my car around a fucking tree. Lamest. Joyride. Ever.
Following that, was a clusterfuck of neighbors who'd known me all my life and the police, all of them either making fun of me or telling me how pissed my dad was gonna be when he got back home. I was so embarrassed I couldn't go to school the next day, but the embarrassment was nothing compared to The Fear. I felt like I was gonna hurl for the next three days. Finally mom and dad get home from their trip, and my dad sees the car and goes completely apeshit. I could hear him going apeshit through two walls. When he walked into my room, I think the only reason he didn't hit me right then was the fact that I had my arms up to block the blows I knew were coming. Unstoppably angry however, he launches into this litany of expletives and insults, punctuating each one of them with a sharp, HARD, poke to the chest from his finger. It hurt like hell, but I wasn't gonna block or dodge his finger because that would have doubtless meant getting poked with his fist. So I just sat there taking it and wincing when the greatest thing that had ever happened to me up to that point in my life happened: He sprained his finger. On my chest. My asshole father, the prick, sprained his finger on my chest while hitting me with it. In that moment, the concepts of both irony and justice were gloriously introduced to me. Dad said something like, "Ow, shit!" and his finger immediately swelled up to almost twice its normal size. This was a beautiful thing, and I found it hysterically funny. And it showed on my face apparently because all of a sudden my fathers face went completely blank, and for the first time in my life, I really thought he might kill me. And he stared at me. He gave me the most intense stare I've ever seen and he put his face up close to mine, a fraction of an inch away and he stared some more and he didn't say a word. Without moving his lips, in complete and total silence, he told me to go ahead and laugh. He dared me, defied me to laugh. It was so quiet I could hear our next-door neighbors discussing what to have for dinner through my window. He stood there like that, for a good minute, which is an eternity in "trying-not-to-laugh" time. And, oh my god, was I trying. I don't think I've ever tried so hard not to do anything in my entire life. Not laughing just then, as he held his injured finger in his hand, was damn near the hardest thing I've ever done.
One last comment before I go -- the website this was under was mungbeing.com, just to credit the source of my title :]
My trusty flight companion :) You have no idea how huge this thing was goddamn. Freaking. Almost got stuck in that dumb scanning thing with the conveyor belt and the buckets and all. And you kno how they randomly do "extra precaution checks" on ppl. Yeah? Well, they freaking pulled ME out and did one of those. ME! DO I LOOK LIKE A FREAKING TERRORIST TO YOU GUYS? Damn. Well I guess it was reasonable. This teddy bear did look slightly suspicious seeing how big it is. But I love him nonetheless. I think I named him one time, but I cant seem to recall the name :( Anyway, he has a big head :) And around his neck is a medal. My medal. A bronze metal :( ..something I won in a 5th grade event for sprinting. I would've gotten second place if that bitch didnt cross her line and cut in front of me. I was so pissed after that. All my other friends got like gold and stuff and I couldnt even get second. And I wasnt even slow. In fact, I was damn fast for a fifth grader. :( was gonna join track in 6th grade too when I got to Junior High.. so much for that.. xD
