Father's Day Weekend - Why I'm Not Sending My Dad a Tie This Year...

Actually, if anything, I'll be sending this coffee mug to him instead.  It sends a message of "I love you dad, but that doesn't mean I have to like you."

But then again, I doubt he's expecting anything from me.  We haven't talked since early 2009.

Why?  Well, if you ask him, it's because I'm ungrateful.

If you ask anyone else in the world that knows him, it's because he's a grade-A jerk.

I blogged earlier about my mom, and how she is finally living a life of a promiscuous 20-something at the age of 49.  Well a lot of it was because she married my dad young, and he was a d-bag from day 1.  When she turned 16, she bought her own car.  A 1977 Trans-Am, brand new, all the bells and whistles.  It was her dream car, and she loved it.  She married my dad in 1980, and the first thing he did was sell her car.  Why?  In his opinion, "it wasn't the car a married woman and mother should be driving."  Did he consult her?  Nope.  He just did it.

And that's how he lives his life.  He knows best, and he's always right.

Dad hasn't worked a consistent job since about 1995.  But he plays the lotto on a daily basis.  He plays all the different types:  Draw 3, draw 5, the big lotto, and he keeps a log.  He has hundreds of pages of graph paper with lotto results from the last 15 years, and LOVES to talk at length about how the California lottery is monitoring HIM, and making sure his numbers never come up.

Yes, I'm completely serious.  The California State Lotto is watching my dad like a hawk.  If he plays 2-7-2 on a pick 3, they will make sure he's always 1 number off.  Even if the number drawn is 8-4-5, he can find a way to justify it SHOULD HAVE BEEN his number.

See, folks?  This is what happens when you don't work.  You go crazy.  It completely made sense when my mom left him about 5 years ago.

Another big issue I have with my dad is his racism.  He's a hard-line Democrat, and I was raised in a neighborhood where I was pretty much the only white boy on my block.  Racism doesn't thrive well in those scenarios, but my dad finds a way.

According to dad, all the bad drivers on the road are Mexican.  Ok, ok, in Southern California that's a safe bet statistics-wise, but still... when you're 15, and you're dad his hanging his head out the window of the car yelling "CHOCO LOCO!!!" it's a bit of an embarassment.

Speaking of car stories, he's a chain smoker.  He smokes in his car, with the windows rolled up.  Growing up, I was definitely a somewhat addicted second-hand smoker.  When I cough, I sound like I've been smoking a pack a day since I was 12... Thanks dad, for fucking up my lungs and not caring.

He was finally evicted from the home I was raised in, and is now living with his parents in Arizona.  I feel sorry for Grandma and Grandpa.  Talking to them, he's pretty close to being homeless, because dad is treating them like dirt... even though they are giving him a place to stay rent-free.  Go fig.

Dad only cares about himself.  He has gotten TV and phone service in my name by using my Social Security Number, because his credit is so screwed up.  His solution was to take advantage of his boys... first my brother and then me.  Isn't he great?

On the bright side, dad has taught me a valuable lesson:  Don't be like him.  I make an effort every day to be as NOT like him as possible.  I don't judge, I don't exploit, and I try to put others first.  So, in a way, thanks dad for being such an asshole.

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