A couple of day’s back my father got pissed off at me for, what I thought was no apparent reason.  He just started ignoring me and scowling all the time and yeah, I know that it’s childish and immature but you got to admit that this toddler-esque way of pouting about is very effective in making a person feel uncomfortable.

So I was uncomfortable for a time.  It was pretty obvious that he was pissed off at me so I racked my brain for anything that I did the past few hours that could’ve annoyed him at all.

One thing came to mind: the fact that my mother made him stay late for me in Makati so he could pick me up after a show that I watched.  I mean that must’ve been it, right?  I got my love of sleeping from my father and he loves it far more than I do so the fact that he was robbed of a few hours’ worth of snooze time must’ve gotten o him.  Or so I thought.

I even got pissed off at my mother for making him stay up late for me.  I mean it was a lose-lose situation: I was discontented because I had to leave immediately after the show while my friends hung out more and my father was angry because of the lack of sleep. 

It was one of those moments that I couldn’t stand my mother’s interference.  I mean I know that she means well and everything, but I can’t help but feel that she was doing that so we could be the poster image for the perfect family.  It reeked of Stepford-Wive-ism and that made me sick. 

My mother’s always been the type to keep up with the people around her and here in suburbia world, the parents picked up the kids no matter how late they came home and wherever the hell it was they came from.  I guess she wanted that for our family as well.

The only problem was, my father and I are like two peas in a pod and we dislike doing stuff for other people that we know he or she would not appreciate.  I didn’t appreciate the gesture of picking me up so much because it put a pressure on me to leave early and he didn’t appreciate the gesture as well because it lessened his sleeping time. 

So I had a talk with my mother about it.  That moment was actually one for the books because I did not act out, pout or stomp my feet during the whole conversation.  Sure, I glared at some point, but come on and cut me some slack; I’m only human after all. 

It was the first time that I actually had a civil argument with my mother.  I said my peace and she said hers.  It was all very mature and I didn’t go to bed angry at all that night. 

And then the next day came and reality bit down on me hard.  The real reason my dad was so angry in the first place was because he heard that I went out drinking for a whole night with my cousins. 

Apparently my twenty-two years of roaming this earth still doesn’t entitle me to go out drinking alcoholic beverages.

Sheesh.