My dad didn’t ask for much. Somewhere, he learned that you’re entitled to nothing and you should be grateful for whatever you get. He didn’t mind telling me that I was the laziest, most ungrateful boy he’d ever met. Nothing had been given to him. Everything had been given to me.
He enjoyed feasting on a few delicacies. Olives, pepperoncini, anchovies, he’d eat those straight out of the jar. He liked fancy cashews, pizza with everything on it. And whatever portion was available, he’d eat until nothing remained.
On the eve of one particular Father’s Day, I went to Stover’s or some other purveyor of fancy nuts and candies at South Hills Village Mall and bought my dad a pound of fancy cashews. Cost me a good $15.
After my dad had gone to bed, I left the box of cashews on the television set in the living room. He’d be the first to rise, and he’d probably have eaten those cashews before I even awoke.
As it turned out, my little brother had stumbled in drunk and high at around four in the morning with a case of the munchies, saw the box of cashews and helped himself.
Next day, the cashews were indeed gone.
My dad kind of grumbled at me for a couple of days then threw me out of the house. I was the laziest, most ungrateful boy he’d ever met, and I hadn’t even shown him the respect of getting him a card for Father’s Day.
Rather than rat out my brother and beg my dad for understanding, I took my lumps and moved out.