My dad was a stubborn man with a temper, and unfortunately, this often led to uncomfortable, embarrassing situations when I was growing up.
One time, when I was ten or so, he and my mum and I visited a national park. Dad was driving. He paid our entrance fee, and the park’s employee handed him a pass.
Park Employee: “Peel off the backing and stick that to your windshield, please, sir.”
Dad: *Instantly.* “Nope.”
He said it so fast it’s as if he’d anticipated that instruction.
Park Employee: *Professional smile disappearing.* “I beg your pardon?”
I cringed, knowing that a fight – the latest in a long list of stupid, pointless fights my dad seemed to take pride in – was imminent. So did my mother, who groaned “Here we go again” to herself.
Dad: *With a smirk.* “I’m not doing that.”
Park Employee: “May I ask why not?”
Again, Dad’s response was instant:
Dad: “Because the glue you use on those passes makes them next to impossible to remove. They always leave a sticky residue behind.”
This was sometime around 1974, and I have no idea if what Dad said was true or not. I know that these days the glue used is similar to what’s used in Post-its, which means the passes come off easily.
By now, the employee’s face was grim.
Park Employee: “Sir, you need to put the pass on your windshield. That’s the rule.”
Dad: “I’m not going to.”
Dad’s entire attitude was pure smugness, like he was daring the employee to do something about it.
Park Employee: “Then I’m not going to let you enter the park.”
Dad: *Confidently.* “You can’t do that.”
Park Employee: “Yes, I can. And I will, unless you do as I say.”
I began to cry, both from humiliation and sadness, as I saw my happy day in the park vanishing before my eyes. Mum wasn’t having it, though, and she read Dad the riot act.
Mum: “For God’s sake, [Dad’s Name]! You are NOT spoiling yet another day out, do you hear me? Put the d*** pass on the windshield, NOW!”
Dad: “But—”
Mum: “—NOW!”
Dad: Ugh! Fine!.”
Dad applied the pass with very bad grace.
Dad: “There, happy? Everyone happy now?”
Park Employee: *With icy politeness.* “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your stay.”
Dad muttered something unintelligible.
As you’ve no doubt guessed, that park visit wasn’t fun. Dad sulked and stewed the entire time, and we ended up leaving early when Mum couldn’t stand his surly attitude any longer.
In hindsight, it’s pretty obvious what happened. Dad, having had issues removing passes from his windshield before, planned the park visit with the idea that he’d make a stand, win the employee over with the sheer brilliance of his argument, and score a point for the “little guy”. When that didn’t happen, he remained convinced that he was right and that his actions were completely reasonable.
I loved my dad, but boy, growing up around that wasn’t fun.