Whiskey called me a couple nights ago for the regular “whatcha getting and for whom” conversation.
Whiskey: “Hey, what are you getting dad for father’s day?”
Me: “Yeah…I kinda gotta stiff him this year.”
“Wait…what? Why? What did he do this time?”
“Dad? Shit, nothing recent. It’s just that…”
So here’s the thing. I am kind of a terrible person much of the time. I come from lovely thoughtful women, but I seem to take after the men. As it is with those of us missing the “basic sensitivity to others” gene, my failure is never more on display than around times of mandatory caring.
Mother’s day, as you may recall, was last month. At the time, I was in the middle of an existential artistic breakdown and the engineer was being a right dick, all of which resulting in various walls of my house being painted.
Also, it was mother’s day. I remember thinking, “well at least my mom is in f’ing Africa or some shit so I don’t have to think about that,” and then I spiraled back into my narcissistic self-destruction/creation cycle.
Have I mentioned before that I have two moms? I do. The day before mother’s day I received an absolutely gorgeous mother’s day flower arrangement from my step-mom.
Yeah. So it turns out I have a mother-in-law, a grandmother, an aunt who’s a mother and grandmother, and an honest to God second mom who’s been around since I was a freaking toddler, practically. I was not off the hook. I was just a terrible person. Again.
The best part about the glorious flower arrangement was that it was made up of forced bulbs which would bloom in succession for extended beauty. So for the last month, up until today, really, I had a lovely, daily, aromatic reminder of just what a goddamn asshat I can be. It’s great. Really. Now I can plant them in my garden and be reminded again next year.
So sure, normally I would send a card or something to my dad but, at this point…I just don’t want to be a selective asshat. It doesn’t seem fair to forget about one parent and not the other.
“…and that’s why I can’t get anything for dad.”
“You know you’re insane, right?”
“I feel like that’s pretty clear, yeah.”
Happy Parents’ Days, y’all. I hope your kids grow up to be better than me.
Dad, enjoy the jerky your son got you. I had nothing to do with it.