Picturesque XVI
My father is turning out to be truly unbearable. I have long found him difficult, many times impossible, to communicate with now that he no longer lives with us. He expects things to be done without question; I do not react well to such expectations, and thus act accordingly, with the simple “why?” And my father angers. The phrase “because I said so” does not sit well with me; “because I said so” is not enough. I need something else; “because I feel like it,” “because it must be done;” these are, quite possibly, no different than “because I said so,” but I’d have little reason to argue.
My father expects things to be done immediately, as soon as he tells us what must be done. I despise being interrupted as much as everyone one, I am quite sure. He cannot wait a few minutes, usually much less, for me to finish speaking with my friends online; things must be done now, as if the world’s survival, or maybe the survival of his rule, depended upon it. If my mother can wait five minutes for me to log offline, my father can wait thirty seconds for me to fix the cot I use to sleep on what at his place.
Events have reached their breaking point. An odd circumstance showed itself right around the time I was getting ready to leave (thankfully) my father’s place. A friend I met over the Internet needed my attention immediately; I had not seen her for at least a month online, and she sounded urgent, if one can ‘sound’ like anything in an Internet chat-room. My father thankfully gave me five minutes to speak with my friend. The news was definitely upsetting, and I shall not repeat it for the sake of my friend. I wanted to continue the conversation with my friend, but my extra time had run out. I was in the midst of saying goodbye to my friend when my father began to scream at me to get off. I already was! I was not about to disappear on my first true Internet friend of two years.
Afterwards my father, as usual, “talked” to me about the recent situation; he threatened me with denying me the computer at his place if such an event happened again, as if my friend constantly lost her Internet access for a month, then suddenly appeared online with urgent, upsetting news. And, of course, I screamed back. Now I am stuck with writing an apology for being rude to my father; I fail to see where I was rude. I believe I could use an apology for all the times he has screamed at me.
