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My father, Stripe, was a really kind guy, but he had always been a bit of a bumbling klutz. If there was a mistake to be made, he would be the one to make it. One that sticks out in my mind was this absolutely ridiculous stunt he pulled back when I was four.
He had come to pick Socks and I up from daycare like he usually did when he was done doing his usual duties at the solicitor’s office. Once again, he was a bit late.
…And by late, I mean like an hour.
So there I was, sitting with Socks and the daycare assistant (who clearly wanted to go home), just waiting, and waiting, and waiting; bored out of my mind. Suddenly, we heard the screeching of tires coming from the parking lot. It didn’t take a genius to realize who had arrived.
My dad burst into the daycare, looking all panicked and sweating as if the five meters he ran were five kilometers. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry kids!” He shouted as he looked at us. He then looked up at the daycare assistant, who just rolled her eyes and walked off before he could apologize to her. I couldn’t blame her; I’d be mad too if I had to work overtime because of one guy!
Dad led us by our paws to the SUV. It was a relatively new and expensive purchase, and one mum wasn’t happy about. She said something about ‘too many useless features,’ I think. Anyways, when we reached the vehicle, my father searched his pockets for his keys, and wouldn’t you know it? They weren’t there!
My dad, in his infinite wisdom, had locked us out of the car. Way to go, dad.
He began to panic, and muttered I-don’t-know-how-many swears under his breath. Socks' ears perked up, and I had to cup them. Last time she learned a swear word, it didn’t end well. Dad looked around the parking lot as if he was checking to see if no one else was was around. After I-don't-know-how-long, I started to get really agitated myself. All I wanted was to go home and nap, and I wanted that right away. Me being me, I didn’t keep quiet. Not my style, y’know? I began screaming at my dad to get us home, and I think it made him panic.
What followed next had to be the stupidest thing I’d ever witnessed in my life. Instead of calling someone to come get us, my dad ran over to a rock, picked it up, and then smashed the window in the back of the vehicle.
…Well, there went the resale value.
Dad unlocked the trunk, then crawled on into the vehicle like an idiot, sweeping out the glass shards and getting more than a few cuts on his hands and knees in the process. My sis and I just sat there in awe at all of this. Even at such a young age, it was obvious to us that what we were watching was just plain weird. I mean, you get taught not to break things and be careful around glass, and yet, there dad was, disregarding all of that wisdom.
Once dad got the SUV cleaned out, he opened the passenger doors and put us in our car seats. Sweaty, tired, and covered in cuts, dad got into the driver’s seat and took us home. The trip was thankfully uneventful, but when we got home… well…
Mum had just pulled into the driveway just as dad had started to put the SUV in the garage, and got out of her car to examine the busted window. Mum's face turned a shade of red that I had never seen before (or since), and it scared all of us. Dad got us out of the car and told us to go wait upstairs, and boy was he sweating this time. I think he knew he had done it now. I mean, it didn't exactly take a genius to know that all hell was about to break loose. As soon as we got upstairs to our bedroom, we heard mum shouting louder than we had ever heard her shout before; louder than I could even shout.
That day, my sis and I learned three things: who I got my lungs from, a whole dictionary’s worth of colorful words, and to never, EVER, break one of the windows to the family car.