Caught a winter bug.
Winter and its seasonal diseases.
It got me lying in bed after puking my guts out
And crying
Because I remembered that I love my dad.
The discomfort brought back a memory -
a young teenager, rented alpine skis and pink helmet on, throwing up in the snow.
Too often, I would tell my dad I felt sick. Don't want to go to school. Want to watch TV. Want to go home and play games.
Cried wolf for any minor inconvenience.
That morning, I told my dad I felt sick.
He said it was too late to change my mind on joining.
I didn't push the issue. Maybe I thought I was lying, too. Or maybe the moody, bitter part of me knew what would happen and the promise of vindication proved far too delicious.
Vindication came next to the first ski lift.
So hours went by with me and my dad in a ski lodge, both wearing rented alpine ski boots and brightly colored helmets that we didn't get to use.
I'd be fine alone for a bit. I told him so.
He said he'd rather not go anywhere,
And bought me soup, pastries, soft drinks, whatever I wanted between my pitiful bouts to the restroom.
How easy it would have been, to slip in a wincing "this is why you shouldn't lie so much" or an implied "how could I have known?"
Instead I got a wincing "i should have listened", an implied "I am sorry", and anything I wanted from the expensive ski lodge menu.
A martyr to a child's petty tantrum.
He never says "I love you", no one in our family does.
We don't hug or talk about our feelings.
I don't think any of us know how to.
I sure don't.
I moved away, and never sent him a message. He's never sent any for me to reply to, either.
Don't think either of us know how to.
So now I'm lying in bed
After puking my guts out
And crying
Because I remembered that I love my dad.
It got me lying in bed after puking my guts out
And crying
Because I remembered that I love my dad.
The discomfort brought back a memory -
a young teenager, rented alpine skis and pink helmet on, throwing up in the snow.
Too often, I would tell my dad I felt sick. Don't want to go to school. Want to watch TV. Want to go home and play games.
Cried wolf for any minor inconvenience.
That morning, I told my dad I felt sick.
He said it was too late to change my mind on joining.
I didn't push the issue. Maybe I thought I was lying, too. Or maybe the moody, bitter part of me knew what would happen and the promise of vindication proved far too delicious.
Vindication came next to the first ski lift.
So hours went by with me and my dad in a ski lodge, both wearing rented alpine ski boots and brightly colored helmets that we didn't get to use.
I'd be fine alone for a bit. I told him so.
He said he'd rather not go anywhere,
And bought me soup, pastries, soft drinks, whatever I wanted between my pitiful bouts to the restroom.
How easy it would have been, to slip in a wincing "this is why you shouldn't lie so much" or an implied "how could I have known?"
Instead I got a wincing "i should have listened", an implied "I am sorry", and anything I wanted from the expensive ski lodge menu.
A martyr to a child's petty tantrum.
He never says "I love you", no one in our family does.
We don't hug or talk about our feelings.
I don't think any of us know how to.
I sure don't.
I moved away, and never sent him a message. He's never sent any for me to reply to, either.
Don't think either of us know how to.
So now I'm lying in bed
After puking my guts out
And crying
Because I remembered that I love my dad.
26-30, F
