Dad

As I mentioned here, my dad is awesome. This is not good.

I know what you're thinking:
1. There's no way a dad can be awesome.
2. Assuming he IS awesome, how is that bad?

Well, I should probably clarify. He's fun, social, and enjoys torturing his children more than anything in the world.

When I was in Grade 1, I had a tendency to forget my lunch and have to get it from the school canteen on credit, meaning my parents would have to pay the next day. I'm pretty sure Mum thought I was doing it on purpose just so I didn't have to eat the crappy food I always brought to school. It wasn't purposeful, even though my lunches always sucked because -
a) Mum made me make my own from the age of 6 and
b) We only had yucky (read, healthy) food in the house



The way I saw my lunch box

Anyway, one day my father got completely fed up with me forgetting my lunch and decided to make me suffer for it. During his lunch break, he came to my school and walked into my classroom 10 minutes before the bell was supposed to go for lunch. Naturally, I was losing my shit, thinking I was in trouble for something.
After having a quiet word with my teacher, Mrs Schofield, he came to my desk and asked me to remove the books from it. He then laid a tea-towel across it as a table cloth and placed a small vase with flowers in it, a knife and fork, and a candle (unlit because Mrs Schofield wouldn't let him light a match) on the table in front of me. He then turned on a pair of portable speakers that began playing sweet strains of classical music. Finally, Dad placed in front of me a plate covered with a silver mixing bowl acting as a plate cover.

My entire class held their breath as he lifted the bowl to reveal...this.



A cracker, a layer of peanut butter, another cracker, even more peanut butter, and a sugar-snap pea

Dad then retrievded his camera from his bag and pointed it at me. "Eat it."
I reached for the monstrosity, tears of mortification in my eyes.
"With the cutlery."

The cacophony of my classmates' derision was too much to bear. Even Mrs Schofield was pissing herself laughing. I ate that, that THING with the knife and fork provided and Dad snapped many, many photos. (I'd post them up here but I have no idea where they are)

When I'd finished, Dad smugly packed up the place setting, and put in its place a brown paper bag containing my real lunch. "Now, Gracie. You won't be forgetting your lunch again, will you?"

I knew at that moment that my father was a psychopath.



Seriously, would YOU trust him?!

 What's the moral of this story? "Don't forget your lunch?" NO!!

The moral is, Dad is awesome. You see, after over a decade of therapy, I've finally come to see the funny side of that story. And I'm certain that, from anyone else's point of view, it would have been hilarious from Day 1. But why is this awesomeness a bad thing?

Well, as a young adolescent, I had always found it frustrating when my dad was more popular than me. Why couldn't he make stupid jokes like everyone else's dad? No, he had to be funny and charming and always up for driving me places. Oh, wait...

Okay, all that may not seem so bad. But imagine if you had a friend who thought it was HILARIOUS to start calling him Daddy. And he played along. And she continued with this. Creepy? Disturbing? You betcha. She even says he likes her more than me... She doesn't even claim to be my sister. She's just Dad's daughter. Period.

I think some more psychotherapy is in order...

P.S.
The story of Dad delivering my lunch was told amongst my peers for 3 more years. Until I changed schools.