My Life, chapter 2
My father's birthday was last week, he turned 34. My mom and all his friends threw him a 'surprise' birthday party. I don't know why people call them surprise parties, the person who is being surprised always knows about it. Anyway, tons of people showed up, all his friends in the band or who play with the band, the band's families, other friends and so on. We had the party at our house, we had a big house and it made things convenient.
My mother was beside herself, she had a lot to do, make the cake, make the drinks, make sure nobody got too fucked up. Luckily for her, we don't have any chandeliers in our home. I think most of you know what I'm talking about. Surprisingly, my father didn't get that drunk, but Tre did. My mother was to blame, she made the Cheech's.
After the eating of the cake, which was quite good and pink, it was time for presents. You know you all have that person in your life who you have no idea what to get them for their birthday, they already have everything. For me, it's my dad. He isn't my mom, he wouldn't be happy with candles or smelly soap, but what the hell does he want? I had no clue, so I didn't get him anything. Hold on, before you say I'm a cheap son of a bitch, well maybe I am, but not this time! Instead of buying my father a pack of guitar picks or a crappy hat, something stupid, I sat down and worked my ass off writing a song.
I know, a ten-year-old writing a song, what was I thinking?! It was hard, if anything I can tell my dad I have found a new appreciation for him. That's a gift, kinda. I didn't give it to him when everyone was there, knowing him he'd read it out loud, that would just be embarrassing. So I waited till everyone left. And then I gave it to him. No, not really, I chickened out.
So at eleven at night I was sitting in bed think of what a terrible son I was. I hadn't gotten my dad a bloody thing, well I wrote him something but I didn't have the guts to hand it to him. He didn't know that, my mom didn't, I wonder what they thought of me?
The door opened to my room, it wasn't my mother like I expected coming in to tell me off for not giving my father anything, it was my dad. He was smiling weakly and came over to my bed and sat near me, neither if us said a word. The silence deafened the room for another minute and then he spoke.
"I love you Joey."
I was completely stunned. What the fuck?! That is what I wanted to scream at him, who just says something like that? I looked down at the covers covering the lower half of my body, I played with the sheets not knowing what to say back. He had never said he loved me to my face before. Why now?
"I love you too," I said confused. He looked me straight in the eye, eye contact, I hated it. I always felt ashamed looking into his eyes, like I wasn't worthy enough. While fans died for the amazing Billie Joe Armstrong to make eye contact with them, I, his son was afraid to.
He rose from the bed and stood unsure of what to do, he seemed uncomfortable. He had shoved his hands in his pockets like he always does. I figured it was my turn to feel just as uncomfortable. As he turned his back I called to him. "Dad, I wrote this for you. It isn't good, but it was...or is your birthday present." I held out the piece of paper I had wrote it on.
Turning back around he had that smile on his face. You know that smile. I was glad to see it, maybe he wouldn't laugh at me for trying to make him proud. Maybe he wouldn't have to pretend, maybe he would be proud of his son for real. He reached for it and sat back down on the bed once it was in his hand. His eyes read through the words, back and forth, now I felt uneasy. When he finished he turned to me, I saw tears in his eyes. Was that a good thing? It must have been because he pulled me into a hug, something he hadn't done in years.
My mother was beside herself, she had a lot to do, make the cake, make the drinks, make sure nobody got too fucked up. Luckily for her, we don't have any chandeliers in our home. I think most of you know what I'm talking about. Surprisingly, my father didn't get that drunk, but Tre did. My mother was to blame, she made the Cheech's.
After the eating of the cake, which was quite good and pink, it was time for presents. You know you all have that person in your life who you have no idea what to get them for their birthday, they already have everything. For me, it's my dad. He isn't my mom, he wouldn't be happy with candles or smelly soap, but what the hell does he want? I had no clue, so I didn't get him anything. Hold on, before you say I'm a cheap son of a bitch, well maybe I am, but not this time! Instead of buying my father a pack of guitar picks or a crappy hat, something stupid, I sat down and worked my ass off writing a song.
I know, a ten-year-old writing a song, what was I thinking?! It was hard, if anything I can tell my dad I have found a new appreciation for him. That's a gift, kinda. I didn't give it to him when everyone was there, knowing him he'd read it out loud, that would just be embarrassing. So I waited till everyone left. And then I gave it to him. No, not really, I chickened out.
So at eleven at night I was sitting in bed think of what a terrible son I was. I hadn't gotten my dad a bloody thing, well I wrote him something but I didn't have the guts to hand it to him. He didn't know that, my mom didn't, I wonder what they thought of me?
The door opened to my room, it wasn't my mother like I expected coming in to tell me off for not giving my father anything, it was my dad. He was smiling weakly and came over to my bed and sat near me, neither if us said a word. The silence deafened the room for another minute and then he spoke.
"I love you Joey."
I was completely stunned. What the fuck?! That is what I wanted to scream at him, who just says something like that? I looked down at the covers covering the lower half of my body, I played with the sheets not knowing what to say back. He had never said he loved me to my face before. Why now?
"I love you too," I said confused. He looked me straight in the eye, eye contact, I hated it. I always felt ashamed looking into his eyes, like I wasn't worthy enough. While fans died for the amazing Billie Joe Armstrong to make eye contact with them, I, his son was afraid to.
He rose from the bed and stood unsure of what to do, he seemed uncomfortable. He had shoved his hands in his pockets like he always does. I figured it was my turn to feel just as uncomfortable. As he turned his back I called to him. "Dad, I wrote this for you. It isn't good, but it was...or is your birthday present." I held out the piece of paper I had wrote it on.
Turning back around he had that smile on his face. You know that smile. I was glad to see it, maybe he wouldn't laugh at me for trying to make him proud. Maybe he wouldn't have to pretend, maybe he would be proud of his son for real. He reached for it and sat back down on the bed once it was in his hand. His eyes read through the words, back and forth, now I felt uneasy. When he finished he turned to me, I saw tears in his eyes. Was that a good thing? It must have been because he pulled me into a hug, something he hadn't done in years.
