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May 31, 2005
what a day.
sometimes, yo.
i don't even know why i try.
today was my day off, after working ALL of memorial day weekend.
i had planned to go to the bank and cash my first lenscrafters check, head to a bookstore and peruse the periodicals section, then run home and hop on the computer a bit, see what musical goodness i could come up with.
9:12am, my dad calls me out of my sleep, and asks me to move some heavy trash with him and my younger brother justin, from the new house he just bought. i oblige. it's only fair, they're really t aking on the brunt of preparing for the move themselves, and they've been doing an admirable job of it.
so by ten, we're on our way, a nigga done skipped breakfast, shower, toothpast and toothbrush, put on some raggedy clothes and hopped in my dad's F-150, on the way to west philadelphia for some heavy lifting. justin, just got off of work, UPS truck loading, and the first thing he does after getting home from work is climb in my dad's F-150.
so we does the do, it gets done- we're taking a refridgerater and some ornate cabinets to the public dump to be trashed.
what my dad neglected to tell us was that there would be a few people over to inspect the house, look at the wiring, and make some comments/suggestions on what still needed to be done before the house would be liveable. fine. not a big deal... my uncle (who previously owned the house) had/has close to 50000 records in that house that we can glance over, maybe find a few to take home listen to.
so while they examine the house, justin and i look t hrough a couple of open boxes of records, and come up on some nice stuff (i'll list em later).
long story short, we take our mini stacks of records and sit outside on the steps, waiting for my dad to finish up.
he comes out and stops just short of calling us thieves for taking the records. we climb in the truck and pull off, heading for city line avenue when this guy has the nerve to tell us that either one or both of us smell less than fresh... wait wait, it dont stop... we drop the trash off, my brother and i do all the work, heaving this crap in a trash truck's compactor, and then pull off- he asks us if we are hungry- i say yes, he drives to wawa and gets food for himself, justin and i pay for our own food, and then while we sitting in the truck waiting for him, i crack open my sandwich and begin to eat... this negro comes to the car looking at me like im pissing in the driver's seat. so i silently wrap up my sandwich and wait to get home.
mind you, i'm not being passive or getting chumped here, i'm avoiding a fight in the car.
keep in mind that this man has also not thanked us. i didnt leave that part out, it just hasn't happened.
so we pull in to the parking spot at home, get out and walk towards the door. justin goes in, im behind my dad, he says to the both of us: "i want a list of the records you have before you guys start listening to them."
*record scratch*
aw, homey. its over. quick, stat check!
David McDowell
DOB: March 5th, 1980.
Ht: 6'1"
Wt: 155lbs.
Age: 25
Years spent owning, collecting, and listening to records: 7
so, yeah, i can't hold it in anymore.
"Dad, these aren't your records."
"they aren't yours either!"
right, so why are you asking me to give YOU a list of what i took?
fam.
dont play with me man. let me eat my food in peace.
needless to say, i went on a tirade, my mom trys to calm matters, albeit with a bit of observational sarcasm, but ultimately sides with me, justin chimes in as having noticed the same lack of appreciation that i took offense to, and dad sits there stone faced, watching me write down in large ostentatious letters, the name and artist of each record i took.
he never apologizes. never says thank you. never explains what the fk his problem is. he barks at me not to get ugly about it, i tell h im that it's way too late for that, and he suggest that, instead of me getting ugly, i can leave the house (ostensibly for good) and that way, all the problems can be alleviated.
finally noticing that his legs to stand on are broken, he goes upstairs and sequesters himself in his room with the door shut.
my dad has the debate skills of a 10 year old.
i feel more bad for him, and for my mother, because she has to live with him. i lo ve my dad. but i can do without the living arrangement as it stands.
i'm so outta here. think i'm playin now.
like, this has nothing to do with records. my mom asked him, "you can't have a good relationship with your son because of some records?"
moms, sorry, the records arent the problem.
i'm glad i'm not the type who lives and dies trying to prove themselves to their fathers, trying to please them. cuz i'd be a broken individual, up a creek without a paddle.
______
be back with the records in a few.
