My dad has been here for 13 days. For the most part, I have enjoyed his visit and the Red Queen seems to survived the onslaught with much less pain than I seem to have experienced during her mother’s visit two weeks earlier. For those keeping score at home, we have had an extra guest in our home for the last month and change.
My father is a cantankerous, oftentimes delusional, old man. He is passive-agressive and opinionated… an unlikely and volatile combination in most instances, dangerously so in my presence. Our conversations have run the gamut from his claim that his parenting skills are what created me ultimately (arguable) to how Mormons are crazy (compared to christians/catholics). I love my father, but he says things that sometimes make me cringe. Especially when he speaks of my nephew, his grandson, in a rather possessive tone. He has, at various times, claimed that my nephew is actually his son. Delusional in the most innocent ways, rather shiver-inducing when given real processing time.
I think there comes a time in all our lives when we realize that our parents are rather fucking crazy. To acknowledge this fact means we have to come to terms with the idea that eventually we’ll be fucking crazy too. I don’t mind the fact that I am difficult, but to think about what I’ll be like in 20 or 30 years (provided one of my blog buddies don’t come kill me first) is rather frightening.