It’s A Miracle Some People’s Children Survive Childhood
I am the author of this story.
When I was young, one of my responsibilities was to set the table in preparation for dinner. I had the typical struggles of a small child confusing the different forks and knives and their correct locations, but eventually, I learned.
However, one thing that always bugged me was that, even though I got the water from a pitcher with ice in it, Dad would often complain to me that the water I gave him was “hot” and demand another glass.
It took far too long for me to realize the problem: when I was getting the glasses hot (and I do mean hot) out of the dishwasher, he was simply feeling the surface temperature of the glass and not the water.
So, the next time, I grabbed water for him I warned him.
Me: “Dad, we’re getting the glasses straight out of the dishwasher. They are going to be hot. Are you sure you want me to get glasses from the dishwasher and that you don’t want a mug?”
Dad: “Yes. I want a glass for my water.”
Me: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I brought him a glass with ice water.
Dad: “The water’s hot! Go back and get me a glass of cold water.”
Me: “For f***’s sake, Dad, the glass is hot, not the water!”
Dad: “The water is hot!”
Me: “Put your fingers in the water and feel it.”
Dad: “It’s hot!”
I grabbed his hand and put his finger directly into the water.
Dad: “Oh. Can I get another glass of water, please? This water’s been touched.”
Me: “…That’s the last of the iced seltzer water. We don’t have any more ice until more cubes set. It will be still water. Are you sure?”
Dad: “Yes.”
Me: “Okay.”
I got him more water
Dad: “This water is warm!”
Me: “We’re out of ice! Just drink your water and stop being a baby about it.”
That worked, and he stopped complaining.
I still can’t believe how much of a picky baby my father was sometimes, given that I was more mature than him at such a young age. We’re both autistic, but jeez!
