It was ONLY a dream

This morning I dreamt that I was a little kid again, with a bunch of other little kids--of course I was the oldest. I dreamt that we were at a party, and all the adults wanted to gossip, so they took over the kitchen and had us sit in the dining area.

Then my dad came out with a tub of exotic fruity ice cream, with five different flavors. Tamarind, guava, avocado, passion fruit, and mango. My dad served the youngest first, and went around the table and got to me. I asked for a halo-halo; a little of each flavor. He served me happily, and I was excited to eat.

Then he took the pile of spoons off the table and said he'd be right back. We waited, and waited, and then started getting disappointed. Dad? I called? I could hear the adults laughing in the kitchen. Dad! Are you bringing the spoons?

By now, the ice cream is melting, and the little kids are starting to cry. Then I realized he was doing it again. He is an expert at setting people up for something and then denying it to them. Also, one of his favorite things to do is make us wait for him, to keep himself the center of attention as long as possible. I didn't want to go into the kitchen of laughing adults to get the spoons myself because by now I was crying too.

DAD! DAAAAD! I'm screaming angrily, and swearing to the younger kids that I would rip off his arms and beat him with them. Someday, will step on his IV. No I won't.

DAAAAD! DAAD! DAAAAAAD! DAAAAD! DAAAAD!

I shouted myself awake, angry at my father who I haven't lived with in almost ten years, with a sad craving for tamarind ice cream.

Anyway, that was just a dream.

Here's an actual memory: when we were kids, and we were all piled into a van, going camping somewhere maybe , we'd be listening to the radio, and a song we really, really liked would come on the radio--I'm thinking "Freedom" by Wham!. Anyway, we'd all burst into singing, because that's how we are, and we're all happy and then my dad would happily click! turn the radio off.

Hey! all the kids said, disappointed. My mom would say, "That's mean." And then my dad would say "I just wanted to hear the kids sing." Then he'd turn the radio back on again, and all the kids would immediately start singing again and be just as happy as they were; all the kids, that is, except for me.

Me, I would be sitting in the back seat, quietly contemplating how much I hated my father, as my cousins sang excitedly all around me.