Again Tonight

I knew before I left London to return to Canada, the first few weeks living back home would not be easy.

I mean I would be moving in with my parents until I found an apartment as well as abiding by whatever bizarre & arbitrary rules my elderly father could think of in order to get me out of "his house" as soon as possible.

Although I care a great deal for my Dad and I am sure he does for me, we really shouldn't be cooped up in the same place for too long, as we just have too many differences of opinions in life and as time goes by, this becomes more and more apparent.

So now, just only one week into my stay at my folks and I am already feeling pretty anxious to move out. I have thankfully found an apartment, actually in the old building where I use to live. This new place is only a couple doors down from my old apartment. Mr. Schmidt who sadly passed away last month occupied it previously. He was a very elderly gentleman in his nineties, and in poor health that had lived there for a number of years.

My old landlord said I could have the apartment but he first wanted to paint over and 'modernize' the place before I moved in. It would be a couple weeks to complete everything, so I was pretty much stuck at Mom and Dad's until then.

I am fairly sure though that Dad is already beginning to resent me moving back in. He has not actually said this specifically in words, however I can definitely feel it.

I foolishly asked for a second helping of mashed potatoes last night at dinner and I could honestly feel his icy and cold stare burrowing through me. I literally shivered from the look.

"Looks like all this travel didn't diminish your appetite much." was all Dad muttered dryly.

These comments as well as many other 'less subtle' ones have made me realize that I should probably be moving out sooner, rather than later.

So anyway this past Saturday afternoon I was just sitting around doing not much of anything when Dad's prehistoric good pal 'Old Pete', dropped over to visit and have a few drinks.

When Dad and Pete get together it is never a good thing as Pete tends to laugh at everything Dad says which obviously spurs my father on to continue on any ridiculous rant which may suit his fancy.

This day was no exception as Dad chose to turn his 'so-called' wit upon me.

"So Pete," Dad remarked aloud "The boy here is moving into old man Schmidt's place once they get it all fixed up for him. You remember the guy, don't you - that old Nazi ?"

Yes, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit this, but my father has always referred to the late Mr. Schmidt as an "old Nazi", actually before he even met him. He firmly believed that because the guy was both very old and of German decent that he was undoubtedly in the German army during the World War II. As such, every time Mr. Schmidt's name was brought up in conversation, Dad substituted his name with the phrase of 'old Nazi' instead.


"Maybe that "Old Nazi" will be haunting the place" Dad mused aloud, laughingly. "He lived there a pretty long time you know. You may see his ghost goose-stepping around the apartment from time to time in the dead of night."

Pete began laughing out loud like a mental hyena at this stupid comment. I immediately attempted to change the subject in order to get Dad off the topic.

"Well Dad" I began. "Mr. Schmidt actually passed away in the hospital. He had been there a few weeks from what I had heard. But I am pretty excited about moving in since they are really going to fix up the place and everything will be brand new."

"Hmmpph" Dad responded critically. "Certainly have been taking their sweet time in fixing up the place. How long has it been now so far, 3 weeks?"

"Just one week, Dad." I replied. "I've only just been back in Canada for the one week. They are also planning on repainting the apartment too. So it will probably be a little while longer."

"Probably painting over all the Swastikas on the walls" Dad responded laughingly. "That would certainly explain the lengthy delay."

Before I could reply to this, Pete began howling so hard at Dad's last comment; it distracted me, as he seemed to stop breathing for a minute before he finally caught his breath.

Once he regained his composure, Dad continued on his insane diatribe as now he clearly had a rare receptive audience for all this unfortunate humour.

"Well if you don't see old man Schmidt's ghost one day, maybe you will run in to Hitler's ghost over there." Dad suggested as Pete continued to roar out loud with laughter, tears now streaming down his face.

"If you do see Hitler's ghost one night, give him a message from me." Dad requested, as he held up his middle finger and waved the 'one finger salute' in the air, for what seemed like an eternity.

Thankfully Mom returned home from her weekly grocery shopping just as Dad was performing this horrific gesture to the hysterical cackling of Old Pete.

"Simon!" she sternly called out. "Can you please at least pretend to be a civilized human being once in awhile, especially when you have guests over."

Moms' appearance put a temporary end to this insanity, at least for a couple of minutes while she was in the room. This gave me the perfect opportunity to quickly grab my jacket and head down to the pub, if only for a little break from all the madness.

So this is pretty much how my Saturday afternoon went which hopefully explains why I am looking forward to moving out of my parents place and back into my own apartment.

It also explains why I drink.