Reminiscences of a Dadzilla Past

Momzilla the Ostrich

I come out of my room and make like I'm headed for the hall bathroom. I hear the door and Dadzilla. Is he coming or going? He's going, because I hear the rustle of a garbage bag. I wonder if he's just going to take the garbage out or if he'll stop by the picnic tables and sit down to talk.

I can only hope he'll stay out a few minutes, but it's not looking good because it's hot out today. I'm hungry, so I start my frozen dinner in the microwave.

I hear the rattle of keys and I know Dadzilla is back and the door opens. One thing about him is he's seldom quiet, but then I usually have ear plugs in. I head for my room while my dinner heats up, and I manage to skirt Dadzilla. I was undetected, but I'm sure he'll hear the microwave.

I head out to the kitchen after a few minutes and get my dinner. God almighty, he starts whistling. He just can't be quiet and motionless. It's like dealing with an ADHD child. I start on my way to my room. “I don't understand you, Dad. You want everyone else to be quiet, meanwhile you sit there with the TV on whistling.”

“Well, it doesn't matter about the people upstairs; they make so much noise they deserve it. They probably won't even hear me. I guess you don't like it either, huh?”

I take that as a rhetorical question and just continue on my way to my room. Same old drill. He won't listen anyway, so why waste my breath?

Today is my late mother's birthday. She would have been 75. I get to thinking about how she'd make the same trip to her room behind a closed door because of his behavior. He was younger then, so he'd actually follow her sometimes and yell outside her door. Whatever they were arguing about: “The truth hurts, doesn't it?”, “That's right, go bury your head in the sand.”, “Your friends and neighbors think I'm crazy? I'm crazy like a fox.” , “Goddamn New York! This was your idea and I'm getting the hell outta here!”

These are just the recurrent phrases I can think of off hand that I heard repeated throughout my childhood.

I also remember him telling me almost proudly, “You know, I never hit your mother.” Back then, I didn't understand the full scope of the statement. Today, sarcastically I think, “Gee, what an achievement to never have assaulted and battered your spouse. One day, I might aspire to those heights.”

   <Life to Dadzilla>                                              <cont'd in future post>

Life According to Dadzilla

It's All Chinese to Me

It's another one of those evenings. I'm hungry and don't feel like waiting for Dadzilla to go to bed before I enter the kitchen. I decide on a bowl of cereal because I don't like the frozen dinner situation. It's been almost six frickin' years and he still can't remember which dinners I like. I've been asked what I want before and I know I've told him and written things down, yet some things never appear in the freezer, despite being on sale and economical.

“You can't have cereal for dinner.” Oh, good. More orders, as if I'm some sort of impetulant teenager who doesn't know what's good for themselves. “Why aren't you eating those frozen dinners? And what about the lunch meat? There's that in the drawer in the fridge.”

I'd like to know what kind of evil I've done in a past life to deserve this now. Surely, I was Vlad the Impaler. “As I know I've said before, I don't like those dinners or that lunch meat.” I know I'm kind of picky when it comes to meat. Whether in lunch meat or frozen dinners. I've made suggestions too. If you're in doubt, then get something vegetarian. I can almost guarantee there won't be a problem with that AND vegetarian items tend to be cheaper than meat items. There's also the option to just not get anything, which is WAY more favorable that going over the same crap over and over and over for years.

“Goddamn it! What the hell do you like?” I start gritting my teeth. The same thing every time. “I'm gonna just stop getting dinners. Ta hell with it!”

“And that's fine. I prefer it to this every other time I come out to the kitchen.”

“Don't be stupid. You've gotta eat. You're not Chinese or Vietnamese...”

“What does that have to do with anything.”

“Because you like that kind of food.” You've got to be kidding me. As if that's the only type of food I eat. As if non-Asian people aren't supposed to like Asian food.

I hurry up with the cereal and get the hell out of the kitchen and make a bee-line to my room. Dadzilla says something, but I'm not sure what it is since I wear earplugs an inordinate amount of time. I keep going to my room, because I just don't care anymore.

“Don't you turn your back to me, goddamn it!”

I keep going, trying to flee the one man Gestapo. This is the kind of thing that used to send my mother taking off for her room. Now, that's what I do.



<Walls No Ears>                                                                                <cont'd in future post>