I would rather be doing anything than having breakfast with my family. My dad always liked to seem to turn things into a fight, and his victims varied depending on his mood. I don't know what his problem is, why he can't accept me and my siblings just the way we are. He hardly ever critizes mom, except those rare times when he is in a foul I hate the world mood. I think my younger siblings Pacey, Nora, and Gretchen were lucky, since they had gotten out of Capeside as soon as they could, so therefore couldn't be forced to share a meal with our father except on their brief visits. Not like everyday like I was forced to, Kerry though seemed to be allowed to pick and choose which meals she could attend, and that was frustrating in a way, I don't understand why I get singled out for special treatment. I already saw my dad almost everyday at work.
I take a deep breath like I always do when I get to the door and entered my childhood home, working myself into the mold that my father expected me to be in. My dad is sitting at the table reading the paper, a smug sense of disappointment on his face, which I hope is about something in the paper, and not about anything concerning me, especially since for some reason every time I am near him I feel six feet tall because he has found a way to project the image, "I am Sheriff, I know all" into every little thing that he does.
My mom is standing by the counter making the plates. I go over to her, and kiss her cheek like I am expected to do. She gives me a smile. "How are you today, Hon?"
"Let the boy sit down before you start interrogating him, with stupid questions." My dad tells her in a gruff manner, which for some reason shows he loves her but also his impatience.
I sit down at the table, and mom follows me shortly after bringing the plates to the table. It seems she did a good job today nothing seems burnt, though there is no telling if she put some strange ingredient in the eggs and bacon.
"Let's dig in, the hockey game starts soon." My dad has a sneer of impatience as he says this, as he folds up his paper and puts it besides him on the table, and begins to dig into his food.
"So, dear?" My mom asks wanting to know the answer to earlier.
"I am okay mom, just tired." I say, and then take a bite of eggs hoping they are okay.
She nods, as if understanding. "My boys work too hard."
"What do you expect; there is no rest for law enforcement." He says, and then he starts making a weird choking sound, grabbing his heart, and slumping to the floor.