Porque mi padre piensa que el día del padre es basura
You
Take
What
You
Need
From
Your
Father
Father’s
Day
has
never
been
a
big
deal
at
my
house.
My
dad
hates
celebrations.
He
goes
through
the
motions
for
Christmas
because
it
means
a
lot
to
my
mom.
He’ll
put
up
with
Easter because
it
means
he
gets
to
eat
ham.
“You
can
pretty
much
get
to
do
whatever
you
want
if
you
give
me
ham,”
he’s
said
many
times
in
my
life.
But
Father’s
Day
is
technically
his
holiday,
and
therefore
he
feels
he
has
the right
to
squash
it
in
our
house.
“Anyone
can
fucking
procreate,
and
most
eventually
do.
I
refuse
to
celebrate
a
statistical
probability,”
he
announced
on
Father’s
Day
when
I
was
seventeen.
I
was
about
to
graduate
from
high school,
and
my
relationship
with
my
dad
during
the
last
year
had
been
rocky.
Everything
we
did
seemed
to
annoy
one
another.
I
dealt
with
the
friction
by
avoiding
being
in
the
house
while
he
was
there,
and
he
dealt
with
it
by repeating
the
phrase,
“You
mind?
I’m
watching
the
fucking
Nature
Channel.”
So
when
he
told
me
on
the
morning
of
Father’s
Day
that
year
that
he
would
not
partake
in
a
celebration,
frankly,
I
was
fine
with
it.
But
my
mother was
not.
That
night
I
sat
on
my
bed
reading
a
brochure
from
San
Diego
State
University,
where
I
was
heading
in
the
fall,
when
the
door
to
my
room
opened
and
my
father
entered.
“Sorry
to
interrupt
whatever
it
is
you’re doing,”
he
said.
“I’m
just
looking
at
some
of
the
classes
they
have
at
State,”
I
said.
“Oh
yeah?
Like
what?”
“You
want
to
know?”
“Ah,
fuck
it,
not
really.
Listen,
your
mother
thinks
you’re
going
to
go
off
to college
and
hate
me
and
then
we’re
not
going
to
be
friends
again
until
I’m
dying
and
I
got
a
wad
of
shit
in
my
pants.
That’s
bullshit
right?”
“Ah
–
“
“So,
look,
I’m
not
an
easy
guy
to
get
along
with.
I know
that.
But
you
know
I
would
murder
another
human
being
for
you
if
it
came
down
to
it.
Murder.
Fucking
homicide.
If
it
came
down
to
it.”
“Why
would
you
need
to
do
that
for
me?”
I
said.
“I
don’t
know.
Maybe
you get
mixed
up
in
some
gambling
shit
or
you
screw
some
guy’s
wife
or
–
don’t
matter.
Not
my
point.
My
point
is:
I
may
seem
like
an
asshole,
but
I
mean
well.
And
I
want
to
tell
you
a
story,”
he
said,
taking
a
seat...
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