Friday, February 02, 2007

ThePeach’s Dad Should Not Have Fathered Children; Consequences are Humorous to Others.

My father is an interesting man. He enjoys watching The Simpsons and Family Guy. He hates les Quebecois (“Goddamn Frenchie!! TABERNAC EST-CI!!!”) and is afraid of Black people (“Careful, Peach! Those thugs are going to swarm us!!” “…Dad, those kids are seven years old.” “And they probably have KNIVES!”). He gets drunk at the sports-bar across the street from where he lives, and then calls me the next day to tell me about how he had to carry his friend home after he passed out and shit his pants. He spends his weekends at his buddy’s cottage, where he smokes a lot of pot and eats pizza and climbs up on the roof to fix the shingles. He loses all of his money on Pro-Line.

He is, in short, pretty awesome. But oh, for the love of gentle Jesus, he should not have spawned children.

Yet, despite being allowed to drive his car when I only was 7 years old with TigerCat working the brakes and my dad working the a.m. radio, I have survived to tell you the tale of what it was like being raised by the last man on earth who should have been responsible for anything.

Everything Up The Nose

Sometimes, when we used to go to my Dad’s condo for our weekend visits, my Dad would run out of ideas of how to entertain us. This was usually after we got bored of watching him nap on the couch with WWF Wrestling on in the background, and after hide and seek became banned for life when 6-year old TigerCat tried to hide in a carton of girl-on-girl porn in the back of Dad’s closet.

So, my Dad had to come up with new, creative ways to keep us occupied. He would come up with what he figured were awesome games for children. Unfortunately, these games often ended with trips to the children’s hospital.

One such game was “shoot raisins out of your nose and into the potted plant”, which is exactly what the name suggests. TigerCat and I would line up in the kitchen, our dad would hand us each a Sunkist raisin and tell us to ram them into our nostrils, and then he’d count to 3. On 3, we’d both blow the raisins out of our noses as hard as we could, and whoever’s snot-covered raisin landed closest to the potted plant on the other side of the room, won. Because I had the bigger nose (goddamn genetic lottery), I almost always won. Little TigerCat would blow as hard as her wee nose could muster, but she always came up short.

In what would be our last game of “shoot raisins out of your nose and into the potted plant” ever, TigerCat decided that enough was enough. She would win the goddamn game if her life depended on it. Our Dad handed us our Sunkist raisins, and she rammed it up her nostril with a fierce concentration. Our Dad started counting…

Dad: 1!
8-year old ThePeach: *inhale*
5 year-old TigerCat: *inhale*
Dad: 2!!
8-year old ThePeach: *inhale*!!
5 year-old TigerCat: *inhale*!!
Dad: 3!!!
8-year old ThePeach: *projects raisin out of nostril in a perfect shooting arc; raisin lands in potted plant* YES!!! YES!!! SUCKA!!! IN YOUR FACE!! IN YOUR FACE!!
5 year-old TigerCat: *panicked yelping*
Dad:…TigerCat, where is your raisin?
5 year-old TigerCat: *panicked yelping, gasping, and crying*
Dad:…TigerCat, WHERE is your raisin??!!
5 year-old TigerCat: *gasps for air, clings to Dad’s leg*
Dad: *sigh* Ok, get your coats on. We’re going to Emerg.
8-year old ThePeach: *dances, sings* Oooh ya, I won, HUH! I’m the best, YA!
Dad: Your mom is going to fucking kill me.

So, we spent the rest of our day in the emergency department, where a shriveled raisin was removed from TigerCat’s nasal cavity with a pair of surgical tweezers, and our Mom added social services to speed-dial.

6 months later, we returned to the emerg after a game of “see how far you can shove twisted Kleenexes up your nostril” ended poorly. Surgical Tweezers were once again utilized in the removal of a twisted, soggy kleenex from my sister’s nasal cavity.

That was the day that the nostril games died. With me as the reigning Champion.

Your Screams Amuse Me

TigerCat and I weren’t the only ones who required entertainment, apparently. When my Dad got bored, his favourite activity was to scare the shit out of us. Usually he waited until we would be caught off-guard, like when we were playing quietly in the basement or sleeping in our beds. His most beloved tactic was to softly moan scary words in his hybrid language of street-Italian and French.

Often, we’d be sleeping peacefully, and our Dad would get bored with night-time TV and quietly sneak into our bedroom…

9-year old ThePeach: zzzz
6-year old TigerCat: zzzz
Dad: *tiptoes into room*
9-year old ThePeach: zzzz
6-year old TigerCat: zzzz
Dad: …oooOOOOoooOOOOooo…
9-year old ThePeach: zzzhuh?
6-year old TigerCat: *whimper*
Dad: …skelettes…willipones…
9-year old ThePeach: *whimper*
6-year old TigerCat: I want mommy!!!
Dad: …oooOOOoooOOOooo…Willipones ate your mommy and now she’s in Hell.
9-year old ThePeach: *screams*
6-year old TigerCat: *screams*
Dad: *flips on lights, bends over in laughter* OH MY GOD YOU KIDS ARE A FUCKING HOOT!!! *hoots* SERIOUSLY, YOU SHOULD SEE THE LOOKS ON YOUR FACES!!!
9-year old ThePeach:…someone peed in my bed.

Other times, TigerCat and I would be playing Barbies peacefully in the basement when, suddenly, a commercial would interrupt the race-car driving that our Dad was watching and he’d need some way to entertain himself for 3-4 minutes…

8-year old ThePeach: Oh Ken, thank you for buying me this mermaid costume! It’s so beautiful!
5 year-old TigerCat: I don’t want to be Ken. I’m always Ken.
Dad: *quietly shuts basement door*
8-year old ThePeach: Shutup, Peepee pants!! YOU’RE KEN. Oh, Ken, being a Mermaid is so fun! Let’s go for a drive in my pink corvette!
5 year-old TigerCat: *whips Ken at ThePeach’s Head*
Dad: *flips off basement lights, holds door handle shut*
8-year old ThePeach: *screams*
5 year-old TigerCat: *screams*
Dad: …skelettes…willipones…
8-year old ThePeach: *screams*
5 year-old TigerCat: *screams*
8-year old ThePeach/5 year-old TigerCat: *try to run upstairs, bang heads on walls, trip in the dark*
Dad: …skelettes…skelettes are coming to take you to hell…
8-year old ThePeach/5 year-old TigerCat: *scream, bang on basement door*
Dad: …willip-OOH! My show’s back on! *turns on light, opens door*
8-year old ThePeach: *screams*
5 year-old TigerCat: *screams*
Dad: Shhhh…Daddy’s watching his sports.

The Most Magical Place on Earth

Our Dad also made a lot of fake promises to shut us up. As soon as we were old enough to know what it was, TigerCat and I were DYING to go to Disney World. Like every kid in the western world, Disney World was our dream. When we were around the ages of 7 and 4, our Dad started promising us that he’d take us there some day. Some day when we were a little bit older. Some day when we were 10 and 7 years old.

Every 2nd weekend for 3 years, he promised us that we would go to Disney World when we were 10 and 7. 10 and 7 became the magical ages that TigerCat and I pined for. Time couldn’t move fast enough. Our Dad would remind of us this promise when we wanted him to buy us Candy…

7-year old ThePeach: I WANT CANDY!!!!!!
Dad: Stop whining. I’m taking you and TigerCat to Disney World when you’re 10 and 7.
7-year old ThePeach: YAY!!!

Or when we wanted toys…

5 year-old TigerCat: I WANT A POLLY POCKET!!!!
Dad: Stop whining. I’m taking you and ThePeach to Disney World when you’re 10 and 7.
5 year-old TigerCat: YAY!!!!

Or when we wouldn’t go to sleep…

9-year old ThePeach: I can’t sleep *sob*. Willipones are going to take me to hell.
Dad: Stop whining. I’m taking you and TigerCat to Disney World when you’re 10 and 7.
9-year old ThePeach: YAY!!!

Really, he would throw out the magic words of “I’m taking you to Disney World when you’re 10 and 7” just about every time we saw him for a good 4 years. And then he kept saying it when were 11 and 8. And when we were 12 and 9. And when we were 13 and 10. And then, around the ages of 14 and 11, we finally let the dream die.

It didn’t stop him.

14-year old ThePeach: Want to come to my public speaking competition!!? I’m reading a speech on how hard it is to write speeches!! I came in second in my class and now I get to read it to the whole school!!
Dad: How about I just take you to Disney World when you’re 10 and 7.
14-year old ThePeach: I’m 14.
Dad: No you’re not.
14-year old ThePeach: I hate you.
Dad: More than you hate your mom?
14-year old ThePeach: No.
Dad: Well, alright then! You’re a good kid! You know what? How about I take you to Disney World when you’re 10 and-
14-year old ThePeach: I’M FOURTEEN!!!
Dad:…How old is TigerCat?

And that’s my Dad. I love him. And I bet a lot of you are satisfyingly leaning back in your chairs as you piece together the mystery of my, shall we say, bat-shit craziness.



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