Cool Dad

Don’t worry Michael, I’m the cool dad. I’m not gonna bust you for anything like your mom. I’m cool. When you come over to this pad (please stop calling it a condo) you know you’re in for a good time.

You what? You want to store that bag there? Fine. That’s so cool. And I’m so chill I’m not even going to ask if that red stuff dripping out is blood. I’ll give you space. You tell me what you’re ready to tell me. I’m not going to pry. That’s such a your mom thing to do.

Michael, is that a hand reaching out of the top? Michael, why are you throwing away that cellphone? Michael, why is your computer screen opened up to a chatroom as the profile hotsexyvampirediarieslover22?

These are questions your mom would ask. Me? I don’t care. Hey. You know what I say? I say come over here and drink a cold one with your pops. You might want to take those bloody gloves off first. Or don’t. I mean, I’m cool with the fashion. Actually, buy me a pair. Or don’t, you know, if you want to wear what you wear and I wear what I wear. I get it. You need space. I need space too. I’m not dependent on your validation. Just like you’re not on mine.

I only get you every other weekend, and half of that time you’re out on your errands, which I don’t need to know anything about. I just want to enjoy my time with you. If that means letting you lock yourself up in the room and watch episodes of Dexter, so what? I’m a dad who knows better than to pester.

Am I worried that you keep putting notes under my door saying “You’re next”? Of course not. You’re next too, bud. I get pranks. I went to college. Once I covered my fraternity’s toilet with saran wrap so everyone’s pee bounced off. It’s not quite the same as the piles of dead rats you put on my pillow each morning.

Michael, you’re my son. I was a guy once too. Don’t think your old man didn’t get around to his own trouble in his day. But my dad was such a–pardon my language—prick. He was always on my tail. I hated it. I swore as a kid I would never be like that. You wanna smoke pot? Go ahead. Drink a little? Drink with me. Look up the addresses of all of your teachers? I don’t really know what for, but I’m not going to stop you.

When you’re in the pad, you’re not my son. You’re my bud. My partner in crime. We are a team. I’m not gonna help you with your wire cable traps, but I’ll give you my credit card to get the wire. All I ask is one night you come watch football with me instead of shooting pidgeons with your airsoft gun. Just once, unless that’s too overbearing. Because, that’s one of the last things I want to be.