Me Me Me Me Me

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Your mother’s sickness is going to cost us the house, our retirement, everything.”
Here we go again. It’s the same conversation every time. My eyes were rolling back in my skull as I spoke into the phone.
“You have medical benefits. You have a substantial pension coming from the fire department.”
Dad snapped back sarcastically, “That won’t cover long term costs of putting her in a nursing home. I’ll go broke. I won’t have anything left. No retirement, no house, nothing. This is going to be real fun for me. Work all these years…”
“Real fun for you? What about Mom? She’s the one with the disease, man. You think this is going to be a grand time for her? She’s scared as hell right now.”

Oh, the drama. Me me me me me… that’s all I hear from Dad.

“You know what? You need to stop worrying about these doomsday blacker than black what-if scenarios. Worry about what you have some control over now. Research different kinds of medical insurance. Find out if there are some financial options. Investigate alternative treatments or new drugs that might be available. Right now you’re constantly stressing over this junk which is years away from happening and you don’t have a god damned clue about any of it.”

I cringed before opening my mouth again to say it because I knew Dad was going to jump on the chance to drag me down with him as far as he could. I was going to try to stick by him and be a good son even though I’d have to wade through his constant bullshit piled ten feet high. Dad and I really aren’t friends. Never have been. Mom was the person I had to keep myself focused on. She’s the one who is in need, not this jackoff.

“I’ll help do some ground work, research some things, and look into this stuff.”

He’d just fuck it all up anyway.


~ by factorypeasant on July 27, 2006.

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