My Dad’s Weird (But I’m Not)

Posted on April 14, 2018 By

My Dad’s Weird (Unlike Me)

Three! I was just 3 mouse clicks away from hacking into Bayfield High’s computer system when…

BOOM!

My bedroom rocked. What was that? Earthquake? World War Three?
A surprise wave (or maybe just shock) toppled me out of my personal computer chair. I almost landed upon Fang, my dad’s deaf dig up. Fang hissed and spat.

Then I smelt smoke.

‘Nnnnno! ‘ I cried. ‘Dad’s blown themself up! Again! ‘

I rushed in order to his rescue. Almost. For our earphones were still connected to our stereo, my left foot snagged in the jumble of power wires under my desk, and Fang took out my other lower-leg with a biting crash tackle. We tumbled through my door in to the hall, bringing down my chair, stereo system and something that made a nasty, tinkling crash.

I looked up. The cloud of smoke rolled throughout the zigzag hall, shrouding a shadowy figure. Out waddled… a Frankenstein possum. ‘Ack, ‘ he coughed, and scratched his stitches.

More movement behind. Out lurched… my father! Splattered with globs of fire-extinguisher foam, his eyebrows smoking, yet alive.
Damn him! Why do Dad have to worry me so much? Causing worry was supposed to be my work!

Somewhat mad, I let tear a big Vietnamese rice burp. But my dad didn’t notice, not even once i kicked my guilty door close. He just swayed and used to smoke in the hall like a black canine on a hot tin roof, eye bug-wide open, beard half shaved, the hair on his head part long gone, part pointing in every direction (looking for the missing crop circle perhaps). Luckily, when he gets inflated like this, my dad wouldn’t notice in case I’d rented out my space to a homeless family (I had not, but there’s a future money-making concept… ).

I should point out that will my old man normally has just a few kangaroos missing from his mind paddock, by which I mean he’s just partly a mad scientist. He’s actually a pass mark solitary father and a very clever creator who’s invented clever inventions such as the laser toaster (banned in every state), the wallaby wheelchair (zero sales) and chocolate flavoured toothpaste (his bestseller to date). That’s exactly where I inherited my brains through. (Have I mentioned I’m amazing yet? )

Yet unlike me, my father is also somewhat weird. Especially in… normal things. For example, this individual works very strange and a long time hours, sometimes wears his t shirts backwards (like now) and, whenever cooking, has been known to burn drinking water (which explains why we eat lots of Vietnamese take-away) (which I avoid really mind) (burrrp).

If you believe I’m being too critical associated with my dad, well, I have to be, since I’m the Organised One. It’s hard enough starting high school, topping every single science test and preparing to wrestle along with puberty, without worrying if my dad will blow himself up inventing the fart magnifier at nine at night. He just needs to get a quicker car and a social life. (If he married Ms Trang through the Vietnamese restaurant on the corner, we’re able to have discount take-aways every day. )

Even more embarrassing, my dad’s far too soft hearted. Every week this individual comes home from his long strolls with yet another run-down, half-dead canine, cat, bat, galah, possum, kangaroo or homeless crazy person your dog is scraped off the expressway or gathered from under the electrical wires. Healthy animals are gross enough, not to mention splattered or electrocuted ones.

So our house is too pitiful for me to request any friends home (don’t think any other rumour you might hear). The only good thing about Dad being this kind of softie is that I can almost always que incluye my way (especially if I make use of goo-goo eyes or guilt your pet out about my lack of the mother (but that’s another tale (and not really his fault (Aren’t brackets fun? ))))…

VROOM!

I jolted with surprise as corridor fans kicked in, blowing aside the smoke.

‘Erasmus! ‘ My dad focused on me at last.

‘That’s my name, ‘ I responded, casually waving away my burp fumes. (In case you visitors haven’t guessed, I’m also the particular hero and teller of this tale (a story that is 95 percent true). ) ‘What went growth this time? ‘

‘Who boom? ‘ My dad flicked at his burning up ear hair. ‘Oh, that growth! Well, I wanted to celebrate, and so i decided to light up a cigar. Unfortunately, in my excitement, I failed to spot the build up of methane caused by the particular close proximity of a certain flatulent buck named Abdul. ‘

I began to untangle myself. ‘So camel fart gasoline caused your lab to inflate? Cool! ‘

‘There was a fire, yet I put it out. ‘ My dad suddenly looked right at myself. ‘How’d you get that black attention, Erasmus? ‘

‘Oh… that? ‘ We fingered my still-sore cheek. ‘Ah… cricket ball. Hazard of being little and hating cricket, I guess. ‘

‘Hmm… ‘ Dad raised one smouldering eyebrow.

I quickly changed the topic. ‘Um, you said you were partying something? ‘

‘Yes! ‘ My father jolted back to his happy condition. ‘I’ve finally finished it! The Nobel Prize will be ours! ‘

‘I’m happy for you, Dad, ‘ We yawned. ‘But I’m busy, 1… e-mailing my stockbroker in Singapore. ‘

‘Your fiendish schemes can wait around, Raz. You simply must notice my latest invention! ‘ With a smile almost off their dial, my dad ignored my look down upon and picked up my roller seat, indicating I should sit. I grumbled, and sat. ‘Let’s roll! ‘ Dad laughed, scaring the one-eyed cat skulking outside the toilet doorway.

I sighed and figured I would better play along. After almost all, my dad did pay my nice pocket money, and he was pressing me down the zigzag hall in speed, and I did love velocity. Plus I didn’t want your pet to check my room too carefully. Besides, he seemed so thrilled, even I was becoming a bit fascinated.

‘Eeeeh! ‘ My dad copied a car braking as he pulled our chair to a skidding halt. The bandaged puppy slid by, the girl three legs skittering. We had been outside the secret door, beyond which usually a solar powered escalator resulted in my dad’s even more secret laboratory in the basement. Normally, I was not allowed down there (though I had snuck in before (roughly 367 times)).

‘Are you ready, Raz? ‘ My dad grinned. ‘Ready to find the most amazing invention in the good inventions? ‘

I humoured him, plus nodded. A willy wagtail having a bandaged wing plonked in my clapboard. ‘Stupid bird. Poop in another person’s lap. ‘ I stood upward. ‘Let’s go, Crazy Dad. ‘

‘Look out, ‘ he warned.

I ducked, and a ferret in a small hang-glider cursed past my hearing. Crazy Dad grinned even more difficult and reached out toward his key door.

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