breakfast with dad

I tried to describe how hard it is to actually live with a pessimist. Maybe some of you could relate :)

I got up from my bed and said bye to mom who was leaving for her morning workout. When the door closed behind her I turned around to see dad quickly chowing down breakfast, probably late for work, as always. He didn’t seem to notice me standing in the middle of the living room, even after I sneezed and excused myself. I went to the bathroom and came back. Still no acknowledgment of my presence.

“Whatcha eating?” I ask and head to the whistling kettle mom put on before leaving. People like it when you ask them what they’re having, right? It’s nice to look at your plate with your favorite food and share the positive experience. When people ask me what I’m eating at a restaurant, I tell them, and say I would really recommend it. When my friends ask me what I’m eating at lunch, I laugh and say “some sort of bar, tastes like s**t, but I gotta get through math.” There is a long, almost but not yet too long, of a silence before dad answers

“Cereal. Cottage cheese.” Without looking up from his plate.

“Wow, that’s nice,” I say pouring myself tea. “I might have some cereal myself. When are you leaving for work?” I might be able to actually have breakfast with him which usually never happens. Either I’m at school during weekdays or sleeping in during weekends.

“Now.” He says, stands up, and starts washing his dishes.

“Oh, alright.” I murmur trying my best not to sound hurt, or he would get upset. Right now, no, he’s not upset at all. He’s just himself. As he washes the dishes in the sink, a little bit too forcefully and quickly, I lift the tea bag up and down in my cup that says I Don’t Need a Therapist. I have a Cat. Another silence stretches out.

“Have you heard that Dima’s biopsy came back and he doesn’t have cancer?” dad suddenly asks in a tone as if he was telling me that uncle does have cancer.

“Yes, mom told me when I woke up. I’m really happy to hear that!” I smile and nod. “Really glad the operation went well, too.”

“Humph.” Grunts dad, turns off the water and walks off to dress for work. For a moment, I stand with my cup of tea and feel how tears start stinging my eyes. Only I can’t cry; if I do dad will freak out and probably start screaming, not from anger, but because that’s the only thing he can do when he’s worried or concerned. I know dad was especially gloomy today because I’m at home sick, but sometimes it’s just so hard to keep smiling at him even though he’s frowning at you. Living with a pessimist is harder than most people think it is. Sometimes it’s almost unbearable to try to push down every cough so he won’t glare at me and shake his head. Sometimes it’s exhausting to tell him I’m feeling lots better when actually my spine feels like it’s under three tons of pressure, my nose is so stuffed I can only breathe through my mouth, and my head is too heavy and too light at the same time because of mononucleosis.

He’s still my dad, I still love him. His personality is hard to get used to, hard to explain to friends, hard to simply be around him. But you just have to learn to live with it, and most importantly, not let it rub off on you.