I
remember when I was about ten years old, about two months before my
parents
divorced, I was on the school bus going home one afternoon.
I was a quiet,
shy kid with usual ten year old kid
worrries and
problems.
Things like, What the
hell is this
long division crap, Is Nicholas finally going
to catch me and beat me up
tomorrow, What
does "I've been to
paradise but I've
never been to
me"
mean anyway? But most of all, most of the day actually, I
would be saying little
prayers to
God.
"Please make them not fight tonight."
"Please don't make them fight again tonight."
It was always about something, mostly money is the form it took though.
We lived in a new subdivision way out on the outskirts of a rather small country town,
so it wasn't hard for my father to get the bus driver's attention from his car and get him to pull over.
Dad was all excited and in a good mood when I got in the car. "How was your day son?" and
the like. What have you.
While getting into to the car, I took a furtive glance over the back seat to see
If he had bought the sleeping bag that Mum had asked him to. It was Friday and I was to
go on my first scout trip the next day. There was no sign of it.
As we were nearing our street, I couldn't handle the suspense so I built up the
courage to ask him (in my usual wimpy way that I always addressed him).
"Dad, I was wondering if you had managed to find the time to buy that sleeping
bag for me today, 'cause that camp thing is tomorrow and all."
Slapping his forehead, or the steering wheel (I don't remember which), he exclaims,
"AAwww son! I'm sorry, I totally forgot."
Once in the house, I go up to my room to play Atari. After a while, Mum comes in the room
and asks me if my father got the sleeping bag today. Before I get to answer Dad bursts
in with the sleeping bag that he had bought the day before. He stops laughing when
he sees my tears.
He never did see why his joke wasn't funny.