On Becoming My Father: An Interview With Myself

Posted: May 7, 2012 in Pregnant Wife Stories

When I first arrive for the interview, haphillips is sitting behind his desk, which is cluttered with the remnants of his first two meals.  He is wearing a Marine Corps uniform shouting across the hall at one of his coworkers something about it being impossible for a zombie to walk the floor of an ocean so that it can eat the inhabitants of a far off island. 

Me:  It is really great to finally sit down with you and have this discussion.  I know that people are excited to get to know you on a bit more familiar level.

haphillips:  I appreciate the opportunity to do this.  It seems like I always intended to, but got caught up, somehow in the day-to-day grind of avoiding doing this. 

Me:  So let’s get down to the root of your problems.  Your father.  When did you realize you were essentially becoming your father?

haphillips:  Well, I think I have to give you an idea of the man my father is, so you can come away understanding the intricacies of this whole transition.  My father is every man you have seen in the movies who still believes communists are plotting to take over the world.  He is tough and rugged, but if he is wounded, he is a terrible bleeder.  He has weird injuries.   While normal older dudes suffer from your normal aches and pains, my father is losing all manual dexterity in his thumbs-probably from overuse related to first person shooter games.  Additionally, my father has lost his balance due to a weird equilibrium issue, but he is fascinated with maintaining his own air conditioning system located on his roof, which makes for good times.  As any man would, after developing the balance issues, he bought a new Harley Davidson–I can’t see this going badly.  If I were forced to fight him in an epic match of my brute strength against his “old man” strength and experience, I would go for his thumbs.  Grab, break, and slit open with a piece of paper.  He would bleed out in minutes.  If I had to nail down my father in one statement it would be:  My father hates just about everyone and everything except his youngest daughter, and even this is fleeting type of affection.

Me:  You sound like you have daddy issues.  Please keep going.

haphillips:  I first saw the transition beginning when I realized I hated teenagers and anybody who I saw walking on the side of the road.  These are probably two of the things my father hates the most.  The irony is that some of the things I hate about teenagers are exactly the things I did as a teenager.  (If you are a teenager who is reading this, I probably don’t hate you, maybe).  Teenagers are my father’s worst nightmare.  He has explained his fears with the following: 

They haven’t grown into their feet yet and look awkward.  This increases a teenager’s propensity to break things an adult buys; because this is a logical fact then anything broken on the face of the planet must have been broken by a teenager.  The next logical step is that any teenager who is walking on the side of the road must be walking somewhere to break something. 

Again, these are not arbitrary opinions.  These are undisputable facts about teenagers according to my father….Unfortunately, one morning I woke up to find I absolutely agree with him.

The second time I noticed the life change was in my driving habits.  My father will alter the route he takes to any destination to avoid making a left turn across traffic.  If the place he wanted to be was directly across the street, but involved a left hand turn, he would drive five miles around the block to come up with a way to make a right hand turn into the objective area.  If you look at his truck tires, they are all worn in a manner that would back up my claim–he hasn’t turned left in 33 years.  What a horrible way to live, and moreover what a horrible fate headed at me in an inevitable slow motion that I cannot avoid. 

On a related note, my dad’s ability to drive successfully is also indirectly proportional to the volume level of the stereo in his car.  The more complicated the driving maneuver, the lower the volume must be to complete.  Understanding that my dad only makes right turns should make you realize that the most difficult thing he ever does as a driver is go through an intersection.  Many times as a child I have felt the tension in the car rising; you could taste it.  It was a palpable feeling you could reach out and swish your hand through.  My dad was getting ready to lose it, and the closer that he came to this point the lower the volume in the car had to be turned.  It was like he controlled the soundtrack to this moment and the rising of the action was ulcer inducing to all children.  I am sure that my sister’s appendix issues were closely related to the stressful conditions we endured while driving in huge right hand movements through town–a method I now find awesome.

Me:  Wow, this guy sounds crazy.  Was he a yeller during all this, or was he the silent killer type?

haphillips:  If something could be fixed by yelling at it, my father would have found nothing he couldn’t repair.  I think there is a misconception about his yelling and tirades.  I think people think he only likes swearing in long swear-filled sentences.  This is not true.  He is just trying to find the perfect swear word and, in the process, he rambles every swear word he knows until he gets the one that takes his pain away.  The fifty he said before the right one meant nothing.   

Me:  So you now have this same issue, then?

haphillips:  I haven’t mastered swear sentences with more than three linked swear words.  My dad says it should come in around the same time I can get my mustache to connect in the middle, but he also pointed out that I was weak and pathetic and would probably never grow a mustache worth a F*(&, Sh@#, that a man could be mother F$%^^ing proud of. 

Me:  Anything else?

haphillips:  No, I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding this in for years.

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Comments
  1. Sarah says:

    HAAAAaA.

  2. sam says:

    O.M.G. Funny.

  3. Shannon Hale says:

    You have managed to capture the essence of your father in this post. If only you could bottle it and sell it… But then, what would you call it?

  4. Steve Blackwell says:

    good times!

  5. […] His stories about his father make me laugh so hard I sometimes […]

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