“Wake up! Wake up! Wake-”
Welcome to my life. Why do I live it? Please, anyone, tell me now why I have an idiotic little brother who for some godforsaken reason decided it was his directive to wake me up every day- even on my birthday? As I tried to ignore the constant shouting- that was it, I tried, but miserably failed.
“What?” I shouted.
“Wake up! It's your birthday!”
I exhaled loudly and stated, “Yeah Sammy I got that. I know it's my birthday. Thanks”
“Come down! Mom's making your birthday breakfast!”
For the love of God, who actually eats breakfast on their birthday unless breakfast is a code word for lunch. Scratching my butt, I shuffled over to the window where an endless amount of light poured in. I guess in the back of my mind I wanted to check if the sun was still there and- yeah, it's still there. In a couple of hours, every family member within a fifty mile radius would be pouring in while only a few of my friends would actually be willing to withstand the barrage of questions by these random old people. Sometimes, now forgive me for being selfish, I'd like my birthday to be about me, but unfortunately, it's not.
Walking down the stairs, mom was hustling around making an increasingly growing pile of salsa while dad was in the backyard with a couple coolers around him. Before I could say anything, mom motioned to an omelette with a candle shaped splatter of ketchup on it. She gave me a quick smile before continuing to talk on the phone. As much as I hated mornings, the omelette was my favorite meal, then again whatever mom made was great. Eating my food, I just sat there watching dad quickly start the gas grill as he dumped chunk of meat after chunk of meat. He looked at his watch before walking toward the house.
He jovially shouted, “Happy birthday big guy!”
“Thanks dad. You're starting early today,” I responded.
As he pulled out a carton of orange juice, he explained, “Got to- a lot more people are here to celebrate the day you become a man.”
I stopped eating and responded, “Wow. Way out of context there dad.”
He smirked and said, “You know, we can skip all of this party stuff and just buy you a prostitute.”
I was left speechless. I tried to turn my attention to mom who was clearly in the room and gauge her response. However, she was too busy talking on the phone to even bat an eye.
He danced his way back outside and hopefully joked, “Let me let you sit on that one.”
I just shook my head and finished the rest of my food. Mom finally put down her phone and look at me like I were some sculpture in a museum. She brushed my hair a little and kissed my cheek.
I groaned, “Mom, I'm eighteen.”
She countered, “And I'm still your mom,” then continued, “I don't like that shirt. You better dress up. Your granddad is coming.”
I argued, “But he's crazy!”
She tried to calm me down by saying, “Look honey, he's your granddad and your family. I know he's a little weird-”
“Every time I see him he asks me how my girlfriend is and if I made it back okay.”
Foregoing the soft blow route, she brashly stated, “Okay- fine. He's legally insane, but still. He is your dad's father and your granddad. You need to show some respect.”
After getting the look from mom, I had no choice, but to concede. “Fine. I'll get dressed.”
