March 17, 2006


My dad loves to tell all of the embarassing childhood stories to anyone, as soon as the oppertunity arises. The trouble is that he never gets the stories right. I think that for 75% of the stories he tells, he wasn't even there, and not only do I remember him not being there, but there's photo and video proof of him not being there for things that I can't remember.

Today he told a story completely wrong, and I remember it perfectly. He wasn't there, I don't think. Today I finally corrected every bit that was wrong, and he stumbled along, trying to fix up his broken version. As evil as it might sound, it felt good to do that to him.

Sometimes it feels like they're all lies. Like he's trying to make himself into some wonderful parent that charished every moment. Sometimes, more than anything else, I want him to feel like he did screw up, because that's what he did.

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