My Dad (a comic piece, read if you fancy a giggle and feel free to PM me on a Dad rant!)
I’m pretty convinced that my Dad is beginning to go through a sort of early onset of senile dementia. My Mum noticed the first symptoms, when one early morning before setting off to work he ran into each room shouting, “where are my (insert expletives here) keys? I had them five seconds ago!” Before realising that they had been in his hand the entire time.
Another example involves myself when I was off to York one weekend for my friend’s birthday. I thought I had informed my Dad, but obviously not, as one day when my Dad, brother and I were sat in the living room, my Dad declared, “So it’s just me, you and Harry this weekend then, Em?”
To which I replied, “Actually, Dad, I’m away this weekend.”
“Are you? Where are you going?”
“To York, Dad.”
“What for?”
“For Charlotte’s birthday, Dad.”
“Oh, right. When you getting back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Sunday?” and that was the end of that conversation. Or so I thought…
The next day:
“So it’s just me, you and Harry this weekend then, Em?”
“No Dad, I’m away this weekend.”
“Are you? Where are you going?”
“To York, Dad,” this time I answered rather bemusedly, curious as to if we had actually had this conversation or whether this was a very strong example of déjà vu.
“What for?”
“For Charlotte’s birthday, Dad.”
“Oh, right. When you getting back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Sunday?”
I thought that was the end of it and the message of me going to York had finally gotten through, but later realised I was wrong as the same conversation repeated itself yet again, scaring me slightly into thinking my Dad and I had slipped into a conversational version of Groundhog Day. Nonetheless, the next time he asked, “So it’s just me, you and Harry this weekend then, Em?” I answered, “Yes, Dad. I guess it is.”
It turned out I wasn’t the only thing he forgot. My older sister was returning home from university that weekend and she was not best pleased when she rang home from the train saying she would be at New Street Station in ten minutes, to which my Dad replied, “What? You’re coming home?” Yes, good parenting, father.
I returned from York after staying there a week longer than intended, and told my Mum about the repetitive conversation that I’d had with my Dad before I left. My Mum laughed at the typical idiocy of my father and said, “If you thought that was bad you should have heard him while you were gone. Everyday it was ‘where’s Emma, again?’ ‘When is she getting back, again?’ I don’t even know why he’s so bothered that you were away, it’s not like you have anything to do here!”
My Mum was referring to my lack of employment, as regardless of me applying to every nearby shop, restaurant, hotel and employment agency, I have yet to be assigned some sort of work. Although I find this slightly annoying based on the fact that I would like to be able to earn some money for my second year of university, I would also quite like to get out the house, as staying in all day and tidying up (but not earning anything!) is not exactly how I envisioned spending my Summer. However, I’m not the person who gets the most wound-up about this issue (although technically I should be as it’s my funds that are not increasing), it’s my Dad who gets seriously worked up over this problem.
“Have you found a job yet Em?” My Dad asks me as soon as he walks through the door, and I’m sat at my laptop scouring the Internet for employment opportunities.
“No, I’m still looking. I’m online now trying to find something.”
“Well you won’t find it sat on you’re arse. You need to be out there handing out CV’s.”
“I have done, Dad. Most places have told me just to keep checking online for vacancies, so that’s what I’m doing. I was out all yesterday and I’m going to be out all tomorrow.” Unfortunately lines like these never work, despite the truth in them. My Dad then decides to “help” me with my Internet search.
“Here you go, Emma, how about this job as a personal secretary?”
“That’s a permanent job, I’m only here for summer, and it says you need over four years experience. I have none.”
“Okay then, how about this, there’s an opening for a job as a dancer at somewhere called The Medusa. You like to dance, don’t you?”
“Dad, that’s a strip club.”
“Alright, alright! I don’t see why you can’t do this yourself anyway!”
“I was job-searching by myself! I never asked for your help!”
“Fine then I won’t help you, but don’t come crying to me when you can’t get a job just because you were to stubborn to ask your Dad for help.”
