That’s not fair!
My dad was an idiot, I knew that for sure. Why didn’t anyone else see this? I would spill my food at the dinner table once, and had to go to bed without pudding. He even dropped his glass of beer. And? Nothing! “Just because you have a beard, you get away with this.” I was so furious. But dad did not even look at me. His eyes had that glazed look. “Martha, take the kids out the back. I’ll go get my gun.” “Patrick, I’m not even dressed. Oh, no, you think they found you?”, mums voice sounded different from just one minute ago when she animated me to eat my mash. It was squeaky almost. Dad ran over to the bedroom and yanked the oak chest open. His feet were beginning to bleed. He had run through the remnants of the beer glass. “Dad…”, but I didn’t dare finish the sentence, something was up, for sure. Sirens began to howl. Mum pulled Maggie away form her chair and towards the back. “Eli, hurry, away from the window. Eli! ELi! Do as your told! Get away from there!” I tried to avoid walking through the puddle of glass, blood and beer. But Dad just whizzed past me with the big sawed shot gun, cowering underneath the window sill. “Ouch!”, I cried. “Will you shut up, boy!” Dad threw me an angry glance. What in God’s name was going on here? I had never seen my dad in such a frenzy. He looked such a mess, the living room in complete shambles. Blood prints dragged along everywhere, my foot hurt, but there was no time to think. “Eli!”, mum pointed at me, “Eli! Get over here!” Suddenly dad loosened his grip from the shot gun. “False alarm, baby! They’ve come for Mrs. Pauley next door.” He slumped onto the floor, his face now turned to the middle of the room. His head had fallen to his chest, and I could hear him let out a long sigh. Across the room Mum held Maggie who had started to whimper ever since the terror had gripped our small family kitchen. Slowly, dad put the gun down and laid it to the floor. “Honey, go get some ice cream from the freezer while I lock this back into the dresser.” Dad slowly limped back to the bed room. “Eli, hon, get out some bowls, will you?”, mum still sounded in shock but tried to keep it together. “Eli, the bowls, ok?” I so wanted to hug mum and tell her I would look after her from now on. Instead, I went over to the cupboard to get the dotted plastic dishes out. After she had put Maggie back in her chair, mum got the rocky road box out of the freezer and generously portioned it out. Dad sat back down to where it had all begun. “Ah, that Mrs. Pauley and not paying her rent. I told her it would not end well, but she just wouldn’t listen.” That was the worst tasting ice cream I had ever tasted, sitting here in the midst of blood, beer and glass, watching that dear soul Mrs.Pauley being dragged into the cop car. And, I knew now for sure that, yes, dad was an idiot!