Punishment Matches the Crime

My father, in all of his fatherly-ness, asked (well....told) me to clean the family room. I was promised that once I cleaned the room, I had permission to go to a friend's home. YES! Only minutes from playing with friends...I needed to get on this cleaning thing, and I needed to finish stat. Playing is of the utmost importance to a 10 year old (or in my case now, a 28 year old.) Countdown to being with friends and all that was in my way was a few items to pick up, vacuum, and I am outta there! I straighted the room, I put my things away, I shoved the toys in the closet, and I asked my dad to inspect. He stepped back and looked at the room, as he always did. (I was just happy there was not a "white glove" test.)

"You think this room is clean?" He asked, accusingly.

"Yes Pops."

"Really? What about that?" He pointed out some clutter. Some items a sibling had pulled out and so I had decided they should put it away.

I responded with confidence"That's not mine, so I didn't pick it up. I only picked up my mess."

"Oh....all right." My father said these 3 words in such a way that I was filled with regret before I could realize what, exactly, I should be feeling regret for. His tone sent a shiver down my spine that settled as panic in my stomach. He nonchalantly gave me permission to go play. I was reluctant to leave, feeling there was some sort of a trick....but this is PLAYING we are talking about...so I took off to my friend's house.

My friends and I were discussing our options. Should we swim? Should we ride bikes? Maybe we should play a rousing round of "Restaurant"? I had been gone for about 30 minutes when the telephone rang...it was my father. He requested that I come home immediately. I rode my bike home to see what was going on, I was a bit confused because he had just allowed me to go play.

I arrived home. My father began speaking to me sympathetically, "I am SO sorry that I had to call you and take you away from your playing." The sarcasm was strong and clear as he led me to the living room where I had left my sweatshirt. "You left your sweatshirt here on the couch. I mean, I would have picked it up and put it in your room...but it isn't mine. Being as its your sweatshirt I needed you to come home and put it away...sorry about keeping you from your friends." I acknowledged that I understood what was going on. I rolled my eyes as I put the sweatshirt away and was allowed to go back to be with my friends.

I was back to the daunting task of deciding what to play with my friends. We decided on climbing neighbor's tree while they were at work. Another 45 minutes or so passed when it was called out that I was needed at home. I rode my bike home, knowing I was in for a treat.

My father, again in that sarcastically sympathetic tone, "I am so sorry to have to call you home again. Come here." I follow him to the kitchen where he proceeds to tell me that I need to clean my dish. "I would clean it....but as we have already covered, its not mine. I am so sorry if you are being inconvenienced."

"I get it!" I said to him trying to be mad, but I did think it was kind of funny.

While I can only think of 3 specific incidences of being summoned home, in my memory he did this for days, possibly weeks...but in reality I am sure he did not. The man had a job and didn't have time to just sit there all day and conjure up reasons to have me come home from my friend's house. (Although, I wouldn't necessarily put it passed him...)