BenJepheneT
Syro - Aphex Twin
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2019
- Messages
- 5,347
- Points
- 233
My father and I aren't close. I meant emotionally. We're on good terms, just not on the side of money or my academic performance. We just don't talk much. And by that I mean we can go through weeks without speaking to each other, besides the obligatory, respectful 'good night's.
By the way, my father's definitely a kuudere/tsundere combination. He's openly an atheist and yet we still have three altars at home. He lights incenses for em' everyday without fail, seemingly afraid that grandpa might spirit kick his unfilial ass if he doesn't.
So my mother hit the road back to her hometown to visit her daddy. Which left my daddy and I alone in the house. As the iron chads we are, we barely knew how to cook. If any of us attempted to use a kitchen we'd have two more altars in the house. Naturally, we ate outside.
Cutting to the chase, we went to this food court with an inside and outside seating arrangement. If we were ever alone together, it'd go like this: my father would do his people watching and I'll be sitting either in front or beside him. I'll stay quiet and look available. No phones out; I'm not giving the boomer any chance to shit on my smartphone culture.
And it's been like this for the past decade. I learned as a child that any conversation with this man would eventually lead to a lecture about how I'll INDEFINITELY end up in a cardboard box with my current grades, so I'd naturally shut the fuck up. Shit's been hung on like this so long it became a natural behaviour and I kinda went along with it.
I guess my father got a change of heart cause' today happened.
We ordered and waited. Minutes passed and nothing happened; all according to expectations. The drinks haven't even arrived, because how busy the whole damn place is. I had my eye fixated on this old Chinese guy tossing fried noodles in his wok. I was entranced, like some sort of a voodoo spell. Then I heard a call from my dad.
Instinctively, I recoiled. I thought my father noticed my stare. My ears were ready for another beating about how my inability to do Algebra could result in my inevitable downfall as a minimum wagecuck at the local hawker centre.
Instead, my dad just said he wanted to move seats. It was too hot for him. I was surprised. He's a 120% boomer. He chose the damn seat. If he chose something he'd stick to it, no matter how bad of an idea it seemed because he has pride that can rival the Great Wall of China. Plus, he was in a tank top and cargo shorts. I'd be a bottle of soy if you started sweating.
Whatever, I thought. Old man physical problems. This man was in a Testarossa speeding through mid life crisis and well on his way to a speeding ticket beyond his fifties. I complied, but it wasn't like I had a choice. He would've given me a compiled list of 50 reasons why I should listen to him with a side of why I'm better than you.
So we moved outside. Good place, good air, plus a better view of the noodle tossing, mousy looking son of a Woo. I was gonna keep staring when my dad rang me up. The seats outside were sitting directly next to the road, and you could see the cars running past you under the open sky.
I don't know what hit the man in the head but he started talking about cars to me.
I like cars. I like it a lot. I presume my dad does to cause' the tabs on his Chrome is full of em'. But ae don't talk about it much, because I'm more into the engine and he's more into the price, but mainly because I don't know shit and he'd chew me out for talking to him without compiling a thesis on the subject.
But the man just asked me about the car.
I said, "Yeah sure. Subaru BRZ. Decent car."
"You like it?" He asked.
"Yeah, but I like others."
"Like what?"
And just like that, I spoke more to my father tonight than any other time of the year. You don't need to hear about the rest, it's all boomer shit. But the man struck up a convo himself, and that alone is kinda wack to me.
But nothing is as wack as compared to what happens next.
The food came just right as I was ranting how I can't fit my dick in the GT2 RS exhaust pipe. We are. It was subpar. Serviceable food, made to last you till tomorrow morning. Got the noodles down my throat and washed it with some orange juice. Good shit, I thought.
Then it started to rain, about three quarters into our meal.
Naturally, my instincts kicked in. I had one plate and one glass of juice. We can just walk under the roof and wait for the storm to blow pass. I turned to my dad, who had a big bowl of rice under his stuffed cheeks, asking if he wanted to take his iced herbal tea to the restaurant and eat from there.
By the beards of Odin's penis, he asked if I mind a little bit of rain.
I don't want you to hear any emotional exposition. All you need to know, is that the last three minutes of our meal is spent silently under the drizzling rain while we finished the last of our raindropped, soggy noodles and rice.
What shook me the most is that we didn't even care. Not once did we look up to see the masses of people staring at this father-son duo gorging on their meals trying to beat the rain from ruining their dinner, or mind that our drinks are getting contaminated by God's hissy piss. I finished about half a minute faster than he did.
For that 30 seconds, I sat and watched the man bottom up his whole glass of tea as droplets poured down his face. The man even waited for a moment to heave out a burp after he finished.
We already paid upfront so we just jogged off back to the car, and left the plates and glasses behind. But the moment never left me. Back in the car we drove back soggy and shook.
Okay, only I was shook.
For years our relationship had only extended to the bare limits of "man paying for food to his son". In just one night we reached "have a meal under the rain with your son".
That night I felt like I cheated the system, like I've brought a catch-up pack with my father.
We never mentioned the rain ever again. The car topic was put on hold for perpetuity. The meals came out as feces along with the drinks as piss.
Everything went, but the moment stayed.
So yeah, tell me about yours. What did you do with your dad?
By the way, my father's definitely a kuudere/tsundere combination. He's openly an atheist and yet we still have three altars at home. He lights incenses for em' everyday without fail, seemingly afraid that grandpa might spirit kick his unfilial ass if he doesn't.
So my mother hit the road back to her hometown to visit her daddy. Which left my daddy and I alone in the house. As the iron chads we are, we barely knew how to cook. If any of us attempted to use a kitchen we'd have two more altars in the house. Naturally, we ate outside.
Cutting to the chase, we went to this food court with an inside and outside seating arrangement. If we were ever alone together, it'd go like this: my father would do his people watching and I'll be sitting either in front or beside him. I'll stay quiet and look available. No phones out; I'm not giving the boomer any chance to shit on my smartphone culture.
And it's been like this for the past decade. I learned as a child that any conversation with this man would eventually lead to a lecture about how I'll INDEFINITELY end up in a cardboard box with my current grades, so I'd naturally shut the fuck up. Shit's been hung on like this so long it became a natural behaviour and I kinda went along with it.
I guess my father got a change of heart cause' today happened.
We ordered and waited. Minutes passed and nothing happened; all according to expectations. The drinks haven't even arrived, because how busy the whole damn place is. I had my eye fixated on this old Chinese guy tossing fried noodles in his wok. I was entranced, like some sort of a voodoo spell. Then I heard a call from my dad.
Instinctively, I recoiled. I thought my father noticed my stare. My ears were ready for another beating about how my inability to do Algebra could result in my inevitable downfall as a minimum wagecuck at the local hawker centre.
Instead, my dad just said he wanted to move seats. It was too hot for him. I was surprised. He's a 120% boomer. He chose the damn seat. If he chose something he'd stick to it, no matter how bad of an idea it seemed because he has pride that can rival the Great Wall of China. Plus, he was in a tank top and cargo shorts. I'd be a bottle of soy if you started sweating.
Whatever, I thought. Old man physical problems. This man was in a Testarossa speeding through mid life crisis and well on his way to a speeding ticket beyond his fifties. I complied, but it wasn't like I had a choice. He would've given me a compiled list of 50 reasons why I should listen to him with a side of why I'm better than you.
So we moved outside. Good place, good air, plus a better view of the noodle tossing, mousy looking son of a Woo. I was gonna keep staring when my dad rang me up. The seats outside were sitting directly next to the road, and you could see the cars running past you under the open sky.
I don't know what hit the man in the head but he started talking about cars to me.
I like cars. I like it a lot. I presume my dad does to cause' the tabs on his Chrome is full of em'. But ae don't talk about it much, because I'm more into the engine and he's more into the price, but mainly because I don't know shit and he'd chew me out for talking to him without compiling a thesis on the subject.
But the man just asked me about the car.
I said, "Yeah sure. Subaru BRZ. Decent car."
"You like it?" He asked.
"Yeah, but I like others."
"Like what?"
And just like that, I spoke more to my father tonight than any other time of the year. You don't need to hear about the rest, it's all boomer shit. But the man struck up a convo himself, and that alone is kinda wack to me.
But nothing is as wack as compared to what happens next.
The food came just right as I was ranting how I can't fit my dick in the GT2 RS exhaust pipe. We are. It was subpar. Serviceable food, made to last you till tomorrow morning. Got the noodles down my throat and washed it with some orange juice. Good shit, I thought.
Then it started to rain, about three quarters into our meal.
Naturally, my instincts kicked in. I had one plate and one glass of juice. We can just walk under the roof and wait for the storm to blow pass. I turned to my dad, who had a big bowl of rice under his stuffed cheeks, asking if he wanted to take his iced herbal tea to the restaurant and eat from there.
By the beards of Odin's penis, he asked if I mind a little bit of rain.
I don't want you to hear any emotional exposition. All you need to know, is that the last three minutes of our meal is spent silently under the drizzling rain while we finished the last of our raindropped, soggy noodles and rice.
What shook me the most is that we didn't even care. Not once did we look up to see the masses of people staring at this father-son duo gorging on their meals trying to beat the rain from ruining their dinner, or mind that our drinks are getting contaminated by God's hissy piss. I finished about half a minute faster than he did.
For that 30 seconds, I sat and watched the man bottom up his whole glass of tea as droplets poured down his face. The man even waited for a moment to heave out a burp after he finished.
We already paid upfront so we just jogged off back to the car, and left the plates and glasses behind. But the moment never left me. Back in the car we drove back soggy and shook.
Okay, only I was shook.
For years our relationship had only extended to the bare limits of "man paying for food to his son". In just one night we reached "have a meal under the rain with your son".
That night I felt like I cheated the system, like I've brought a catch-up pack with my father.
We never mentioned the rain ever again. The car topic was put on hold for perpetuity. The meals came out as feces along with the drinks as piss.
Everything went, but the moment stayed.
So yeah, tell me about yours. What did you do with your dad?
