Imbecile Relocation Program: Part Four

Dad was unusually quiet all morning. We had loaded a large yellow rental truck with everything from the apartment. His early 1950s Chevy pickup truck was secured with chains to a flatbed car carrying trailer. As the two of us were at the rental truck’s trailer hitch making sure both safety chains were locked in place, Dad said in a low voice, “I’m sorry about last night.” Then he stood up and walked away. I could tell from the way he made his apology it was purely superficial, hollow. It didn’t mean a damn thing.

The drive from town to Winnemucca, Nevada was long but uneventful. We stayed over night at a Motel 6 and continued driving the next day through desert into Eastern Oregon then we hooked over into Southern Idaho. Dad refused to use directions my aunt and uncle gave him. Once we arrived in the Boise area he managed to get us so completely lost that it took an extra hour and a half to find his neighborhood.

My uncle Larry met us at the house. He brought along Mom. Not five minutes into unloading the truck, Dad yelled at her and she started to cry. I caught up with him in the master bedroom. No one was within earshot so I pointed a finger up into his grill and I said, “If you do that one more time while I’m here you’re gonna be laying on the ground looking up at me. Got that?” I was serious. Dad was long overdue for a KO.

Continuing to be a chicken with it’s head cut off Larry and I kept tripping over Dad. He was being a nuisance. My uncle Larry is wise, he skillfully got Dad out of our hair by asking him if he needed to make any phone calls. After thinking about it for a minute Dad took Larry’s cell phone and disappeared. Larry and I were standing at the back of the rental truck. As soon as Dad split, Larry looked me in the eye with a smile on his face and said, “That oughtta keep him busy for a while. Let’s do some movin’.” He slapped me on the shoulder and I laughed like hell. Well played.

Later that afternoon the contractor who built my parents’ house dropped by. I’d heard Dad really made his job unpleasant and I felt bad about it. He seemed like a nice enough fellow. I told him, “My father is a very difficult person to deal with. I’m aware he gave you a hard time and I just wanted to thank you for handling it. Also, I’d like to apologize for the way he treated you.” The contractor nodded and didn’t say much. I think he wanted to say something, but thought twice about it. He was probably just being professional.

Flying home to California a couple of days later I felt like I had finally reached a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

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~ by factorypeasant on August 11, 2006.

2 Responses to “Imbecile Relocation Program: Part Four”

  1. Larry and I were standing the back

  2. good catch.

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