My kids think I’m crazy. And, well, maybe they’re right. Of course, they had a hand in it.
A time ago, I was just a normal guy … listening to eight tracks, wearing terry cloth shorts, watching antenna television … yeah, quite awhile ago. But I was normal. A regular guy, just hanging and stuff.
But then I met and married a beautiful woman, and we decided to bring new humans into the world.
Before we could consider all of the ramifications, there were two, both girls.
Flash to fifteen later, and I’m having a patient conversation with one of them, complete with bulging eyeballs, veins standing out from my neck.
She’s warding me off by rolling her eyes like ‘Dad, you’re so stupid, and I’m just pretending to listen while I’m really humming that new song by Twobuckrapalot, and I’m not learning anything here and I’m telling you this by rolling my eyes at you.”
I could yell at her for what she’s thinking, but we’ve had circular arguments about my mind-reading ability in the past that have all ended in a draw, with her winning because it ended in a draw.
So I vented and spewed, and noticed she was just looking at me, a ‘my dad’s a crazy person’ look in her eyes.
WHAT! WHAT’S SHE TALKING ABOUT! I’M NOT CRAZY! I’M NORMAL !!! JUST A REGULAR GUY!!! ALL I WANT IS FOR THEM TO ACT AND SAY ONLY THE THINGS THAT I WANT THEM TO, BECAUSE I’M THE PARENT AND I KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR THEM. SO HOW’S THIS MAKE ME THE BAD GUY. HUH?! HUH? TELL ME! SO I’M OKAY. I’M NORMAL. THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!!
… well, okay maybe she has a point.
author of Fang Face (vampire young adult funness)
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