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Cheese is Extra


My father was cheap, very cheap. My father and mother were divorced when I was twelve months old. My earliest memories were rather traumatic. They consisted of people yelling and screaming and I always felt vulnerable to these attacks whether they were directed at me or not. My father’s side of the family was much different than my mother’s. When I was with my father or visiting his parents it was a like being in a whole different world and they made sure to point out the differences. My father seemed to be a good person. He was a school teacher and of course his career consisted of working with young kids. I met a few of them here and there and they had nothing but respect for him. I, on the other hand, couldn’t relate to my father very well. He was extremely obsessed with money. He didn’t have much of anything growing up. His mother said she would sneak him a few dollars once in awhile because his father would give him absolutely nothing when he was a kid. His father also was vehemently upset that he had planned on going to college and becoming a teacher. He thought my father should have volunteered for Vietnam, and college was just some way of getting out of serving his country. Well anyway, my father and I didn’t really hit it off.


Whenever I visited my father I was always hunger. He was a bachelor and his refrigerator proved it. A couple of beers, a squeeze bottle of mustard, a stick of butter and maybe left over Chinese food. He was never hungry. I would beg him to take me to a restaurant or somewhere that had food and he eventually said we would go LATER. I suppose all kids harp their parents about food but he would basically forget to take me to get food if I didn’t harp him. One of the reasons was it took money to buy food and when you were done eating there was nothing let to show for it. If I wanted breakfast he would take me to the coffee and donuts place and I would get a carton of milk and one glazed donut. I was always interested in the donuts that were half chocolate and half something else with sprinkles on them but those were out of our price range. Donuts in the morning always made me sick anyway so the less sugar the better. Dinner was more interesting.


I remember sitting at John's restaurant feeling like a spoiled brat because my father told me he didn’t have much money and he wasn’t very hungry anyway. I was probably eight years old and I sure as HELL was hungry. It was around supper time. He kept asking me what I was going to order and we would both tally up the future damages I was going to inflict upon him. He would continually mumble, “I hope I have enough money.” I told him that the basic cheese burger and French fries would be alright if it was alright with him but I knew there would be a problem. I placed the menu on the table and looked him in the eye. He dropped his menu down and peered at me over his glasses. “Are you sure you want French fries?” he said. The way he was staring at me became unsettling and I became so intimidated that I said, “No I don’t want any, I probably couldn’t finish them anyway.” At least that bit of unpleasantness was over with and out of the way, I thought. He then said, “Remember last time when you ordered a cheese burger, you only ate half of it and cheese isn’t free, it costs ten cents extra here. Are you sure you want a cheese burger?” God no, I thought. “No, I don’t need a cheese burger; I’ll just have a plain one.” I had planned on getting a Coke and I’ll be damned if I’d budge on that. Just then the waitress came over and my dad was flirting with her, as he usually did with waitresses, and she said to him, “What would you like to order?” I knew he wasn’t going to eat anything and he motioned to me to go ahead and order. I told her, “A hamburger and a Coke please.” And she said, “Would you like some French fries with your hamburger?” I didn’t want any trouble and said, “No, I don’t like French fries.” She acted as if she didn’t believe me and gave me the appropriate, “I don’t believe you,” look. Luckily my father didn’t say anything about the Coke, and I almost felt like I had gotten away with murder. Then she turned towards my father. He gave her a big smile like I knew he would but surprisingly he said; “I’ll take a cheese burger with fries and a glass of water, and oh, I’d like a pickle on the side.” She thanked him and walked off. He had actually done this sort of thing before and I hated to admit it; I was only half surprised. He had always tricked me into ordering first because that way he could take advantage of the situation. I exclaimed, “I thought you weren’t hungry DAD.” He said, “Oh I guess I could eat something, it’s getting about that time you know.” When he went to pay the bill he just so happened to have more money in his wallet than he previously thought.


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