My dad died when I was 11. I won’t claim he was the best person in the world – he was an alcoholic who hit my mom, but by the end of his life he was sober and apologized for everything. Despite all the drama of my life ages 0-8, he did genuinely care about RockStar and I, and I do miss him.

So on Sunday I trudged out to the cemetery on my own – RockStar was too hungover to go (yea, after all those AA meetings, I’m sure Dad wouldn’t be pissed about that) and Mom insists on bringing Harley if I invite her and someone forgot to install a social filter in his brain when he was born. I mean, he says wildly inappropriate things. Things you would think but never say to another human being you expected to talk to again. Example: When family friends got engaged, Mom & Harley went out to dinner with them. They were showing off their engagement ring that they got from a certain store that Harley & Mom had gone to when they got engaged. “Oh yea, we went to <store>,” Harley chortled, “but we didn’t get our ring there. Everything in that store is so elaborate and ostentatious! I mean, why is everything overdone? Who would buy that?” And the crazy thing? Harley doesn’t even realize that he insulted these people! That’s just who he is – we had a lot of friction between us for a long time until I realized that he never understood that comments he made to me were insulting. Once I accepted that he’s kind of an idiot, we got along better.

Except last year, on the anniversary of my Dad’s death we all went to the cemetery and Harley made comments about my dad being abusive toward my mom. No. Fucking. Way. Who does that!? Do you realize how much therapy I had to go through to accept my father after my childhood? Can you possibly comprehend how conflicted I still feel sometimes? And you bring that shit up on the 11 year anniversary of one of the worst days of my life? Fuck you! Suffice to say we didn’t talk for a long time after that.

So, back to the story (this week I’m just not capable of ignoring long tangents. My bad!). There I was, alone at the cemetery. Well, not alone…there were a lot of people there, just none related to me. I pulled the weeds away from the gravestone and pulled out the canister for flowers that is embedded at the bottom of every grave. And there, sitting right on top of it, was the biggest freaking worm I have ever seen.

Confession time. I have a phobia…of creepy crawlies. Worms, snails, slugs, centipedes…all of the above. Yes, it’s irrational. Guess what? That’s the definition of a phobia – an irrational fear. One time La Actress picked up a snail and tried to touch me with it and I told her (in a shaking but serious voice) that if she fucking came near me I would take a baseball bat to her car and possibly to her. She said I looked so serious that she was worried I’d do it in revenge for just threatening me with the snail. I was considering it.

Somehow I overcame my fear long enough to stuff the sunflowers I’d bought into the canister. I’d planned on dispersing some flowers to my paternal grandfather and my brother’s godfather as well, but one worm got me to thinking about what else was crawling around, so I got the hell outta there. Not the best father’s day ever, but I’ve never really had a good father’s day. So…not the worst, either.

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