Moving Out

Leland Robinson
July 2, 2009

"Who the hell left the front door open!?" my father yells. Typical of my father, this is a perfect opportunity for a big confrontation, just as he likes it. He continues, "What am I going to heat the whole god damn neighborhood!?" I’m not going to lie; today is a frigid winter day, January 13, 2007 to be exact. The day started out surprisingly warm, but it’s now 4 o’clock in the evening and the sun is nowhere in sight. I hate this part of the winter. The lack of sunlight makes the days seem way too short, but there is always enough time in the day for my father to pick a fight with me.
Arguing with my father has become a part of my everyday life. Kind of like brushing my teeth-- I do it at least twice a day. All year round, accidentally leaving the front door ajar never seems to fail me. I don’t think it happens because I am careless; as a matter of fact I’d like to blame the door itself for this problem. Maybe if the door wasn’t nineteen hundred years old it would shut properly. Whatever the case may be, I have become accustomed to my father constantly overreacting like this. Most of the time I try not to pay him any mind when he begins to rant. "Calm down, it was an accident Dad," I counter. "Don’t you dare tell me to CALM DOWN!" he screams as he stands up. If he gets up from the couch that means he is really angry. Did he have a bad day at work today? Though I’ve gotten used to his overreactions, I have no idea why he’s getting like this over something so insignificant. Sometimes I feel as though I will never understand him. Maybe I am not old enough to get it.
Suddenly I realize we are the only people home. Normally my mother or sisters are home to talk some sense into one of us and diffuse a situation like this. Normally people don’t overreact this way about open doors. Normalcy must be nice. When nobody else is home sometimes things get out of hand. Right on cue, my father begins his rant about how ridiculous his utility bills are because of the door being left open for one minute per week. In the winter his gas bills are apparently $75,000 a month while his electric bills are $50,000 in the summer months. Responding with as much sarcasm as I can muster, I say, "I get it Dad, it is my fault as usual…I know." This always gets him agitated, which is probably why I say it.
Subsequently he begins his next diatribe about money and how it doesn’t grow on trees, which takes me by surprise because I always thought it did. The argument peaks, both of us yelling, not hearing a single word one another are saying. He decides to bring up things that have nothing to do with the door, his utility bills, or money at all. Somehow not shutting the front door is the same reason I am having trouble in school. It is the reason why I woke up late for work last week and the same reason why I do drugs. My whole world has come tumbling down. Stupid door.
The tension between us has been continually mounting for years before this moment, but this instance is quite different. "Why don’t you just move out already!?" he screams. Instantaneously my situation flashes before my eyes and within seconds I see how right he is. It is one phrase my father has never said to me. It is the one phrase a parent does not say unless they truly mean it, which makes this argument different from all of our other arguments. I admit it completely took me by surprise, probably because it just hadn’t yet crossed my own mind, but what a brilliant idea it is. Everything has become so clear. I look him right in his angry eyes, smile and walk away. I think he understands.