Fatherly Love

 

(Fatherhood is a gift from God.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 9 a.m. and drank a cup of coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a shit. Rich Korean parents are getting tired of sending their children to public schools. They think it’s too stressful--which is a hundred percent true. The amount of time the children are forced to study is off the charts, and ambitious students get very little sleep. 

So now moms and dads with money are sending their privileged offspring to international schools. The workload is much easier, and they don’t have to worry about taking the government tests. However, many curmudgeons with political power are trying to restrict the access to these institutions for young Koreans. My opinion? I honestly don’t have one. I never get involved in internal politics. The last thing I need is to be deported by the-powers-that-be.

Later that morning, I ate hash browns in front of the TV as I watched Dan Bongino. Dan’s always complaining about the amount of taxes the wealthy are forced to pay. In fact, he often turns the poor into a villain, claiming that we only contribute a mere two percent to the federal tax base. Yet this is completely true. But the reason we don’t give more is because we have no fucking capital. The millionaires and billionaires possess all the cash. And it never seems to trickle down to the working peasants like me…as Ronald Reagan once famously promised.

The Dragon Lady stepped into my room. She needed to vacuum the place.

I said, “Good morning.”

Silence.

I said, “Are you having a wonderful day?”

She stared at me blankly and refused to speak.

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. Big fucking deal, right? It’s not like she going to share deep words of wisdom. On the contrary. The only thing my wife knows how to do is spew venom. So it’s probably a wise move to keep those poisoned lips closed.

I opened my computer and checked the Amazon website. I sold another copy of my novel, and I’d like to personally thank the guy who bought it. He’s some type of a computer programmer. However, the rest of you cheap assholes can go fuck yourselves. And I say that with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

In the afternoon, I drove to church with Rice-Boy Larry. We didn’t talk along the way. In fact, he fell asleep in the passenger seat.

Once again, the pastor delivered a sermon about Isaiah. The ancient prophet predicted that Damascus would one day be transformed into rubble. Our preacher showed us a current picture of the city. It’s now a horror show of destruction and despair. He seemed to take glee in its ruin. To him, it’s simply another indicator of the coming of Christ. Who knows? Maybe he’s right.

After the service, I yelled at my son.

I said, “You were sleeping while the guy was talking!”

He said, “I couldn’t help it. I’m so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck. The bottom line is this. Your behavior today was quite rude, and like it or not, you’re a reflection of me. So straighten up, or I’ll slap you upside the head.”

“OK, I got it. No need to scream.”

“And one more thing.”

“What?”

“Stop with all the yawning.”

“Yawning? I didn’t do that.”

“You did! You yawned about twenty times during the sermon, and you didn’t even have the decency to cover your mouth. It was fucking embarrassing. You’re worse than an ancient Philistine.”

He nodded. “You’re right. I’ll try to do better.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

After returning to our humble abode, I sat in my room and watched the UFC. Petr Yan got his ass thoroughly kicked by a savage from the nation of Georgia. It wasn’t even close. Sometimes cage fighting is exciting, and sometimes it isn’t. So what’s a boy to do?