Why My Dad Loves Me

There was this one time, I was five years old and a complete douchebag. Describing the kind of awful kid I was can't quite be put into words. My dad was sleeping on this old couch we had, a giant sofa-bed conglomeration with a mixture of ratty brown, orange and yellow textiles that smelt slightly, of what I don't know, and was probably from the 1970's, at least. Well, as I said, my dad was sleeping, his head propped up on a cushion, lying sideways with his face calm. I walked up to him, standing in front of his face.

Now, I'm a real prick of a kid -- a horrible devil child. I've got one of those ancient dolls in my hand, the kind with the cotton body and the plastic arms, legs and head with its eyes that are weighted to open when the doll's erect. Despite being a complete jerk of a kid, I'm pretty patient. I actually stand there and wait until my dad begins to wake up. His eyes begin to flutter open, he sees me and smiles. "Hey, son," he begins. And that's when I whip the doll out from behind my back as fast as my little arms can to smash it across his face with all my might.

Suffice to say, my dad is shocked, completely and utterly shocked at this. And he's got a welt to end all welts on his face about now. Me, being at least somewhat smart (that is to say smart enough to know when I'm about to get whipped), turn tail to run for my life. And I did just that, only I ran into a slight hitch -- dad was in such an uproar about me being the hellion that I am that he had an adrenaline dump and as I was moving away as frantically as I could, he reached out, grabbed me by the upper arm, and laid into me.

This is an example of the kid deserving the spankings, because, honestly, I think that I deserved it much afterwards. To this day, my dad still isn't all to impressed with what I'd done.

That's just one example of me being a complete asshat. I hope to God that if I ever have kids they don't turn out like me at all -- that'd just be asking for a bad day.