Page 13 of The Good Char
“Kimberly Anne, can you please come in here for a moment,” my father commanded with an all familiar tone.When my parents came to this country to start a new life, they decided the best way to fully commit to assimilation was to give their daughter an Americanized name.I didn’t like hearing it being said like this though.
My mother sat beside him, obediently, while patting the chair beside them where a gift was sitting.It was wrapped in my favorite colors.
“That’s for you,” my father said with a huge smile.My heart raced as I made my way over.I couldn’t wait to open it.I ripped through the decorated paper, revealing a brand new walkman.I squealed with utter joy before hugging my mother and father.
This was exactly what I wanted!All those late nights working at the restaurant, I was tired of being forced to listen to someone else’s playlist.Now, I could listen to my own mixtape!I couldn’t wait to use it at work.
Suddenly, my heart deflated a bit.
There had to be a catch.There was always a catch.As if in sync with my thoughts, my father opened his mouth to speak.
“Kimberly, you would never believe what I heard today.”
I winced and braced myself.
“Is it true that you’re dipping hotdogs for a job now?And just look at how you are dressed!”
His eyes bored into my tie-dye shirt and ketchup stain.My face flamed.I wasn’t sure if I should cover myself or stand there obediently with my arms to my sides.
“You are single handedly trying to destroy the Ngo name which I fought so hard to build!”He hung his head in his hands dramatically and moaned.
“Harold, now, this is just a phase all teenagers go through,” my mother cooed, rubbing his leg.My parents decided later in life to change their names as well.“She’s just trying to show some independence.She’ll be back working at our restaurant soon.”
“No,” I blurted out, snapping both their heads in my direction.After my little taste of freedom, I couldn’t go back to that.“I won’t.I’m not coming back to the restaurant.I like where I work,” I told them firmly, putting my metaphorical foot down.I wouldn’t dare to do it physically.I liked living too much.
“Wait a minute.Who is your boss?”my dad asked with authority and I knew what was coming.“Is he a man?What does this man have over you?There has to be a reason why you are so dedicated to dipping hotdogs.”
“I don’t dip hotdogs, Dad.I dip weiners!”I raised my voice, blurting the first thing that came to my mind while I bolted up from my seat.Did it make any sense or difference?No, but that didn’t matter.I needed to stand up for myself!I swear, they aren’t listening to anything I’m saying!
“Oh my god.No, Harold, our little girl, she must be pregnant.It’s the music she’s been listening to, Harold,” Mother said fervently.“Look at the pants and shorts she’s wearing right now!Dipping weiners?That must mean sex.Kimberly Anne, you tell me right now, are you having sex?Harold, that’s it,” she cried.“She’s pregnant!”
My father jumped up from his seat and began pacing, threatening to wear a hole in the carpet.“Why me?”he called out to the ceiling.“Why would a daughter dishonor her father so terribly?She’s pregnant by a hotdog dipper?”
I felt like I was going to die.What in the world was going on right now?How did we get here?“You sound just like Mr.Dzik.Chill out dad.I’m not having sex.I just like what I'm doing.”
“Mr.Dzik?”His voice changed to a higher pitch and I grimaced.“My daughter works for someone named Dick!This is too much to bear.Why me, why me?Oh, the shame.”
If parents had an oscar award for the most dramatic parent, he would win, hands down.
“If you aren’t pregnant, what is it, baby?You can tell us anything,” my mother pleaded.“Oh, no.That has to be it.She can’t tell us because we will be accomplices.”She covered her mouth dramatically and I rolled my eyes.“She killed someone!”
“What?No.I didn?—”
“Harold, call our lawyer right now!We have to get her out of the country.Isn’t your sister still visiting Sweden?Aren't they neutral?They can’t expedite her if she’s there.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!”I tried again to stop the nonsense.How did we end up here?“I just like my job.Are you even listening to yourselves?”
They both looked at me, puzzled, right before it started up again.“Now we know something is wrong.No oneenjoys dipping weiners for a living!”
“That's it!”my father hollered then pulled out his checkbook.“I’ll pay him off for you.That has to be it.Margie, she must owe him money and she’s working to pay off her debt.”He paced around the room until he found a pen.“But youwillpay me back every cent, young lady.Do you understand me?"
I swear my parents are mental.“I don’t owe him any money!I haven’t killed anyone and I’m not pregnant!—”
“It's drugs, isn't it?”my mom cut me off while standing there with her hands clasped in front of her, crying giant alligator tears.“Harold, look at her face.It’s flush.That’s one of the symptoms.My little girl is addicted to drugs.Is that why you turned down those scholarships to college?Baby, didn’t you watch that commercial?Just say no.”
“I cannot.I simply cannot!”I got up before they could drive me to insanity and walked to my room, slamming my door—as soft as I could—behind me.
My parents were delusional!But I valued living, not wanting to add to their ire.I could still hear them ranting in the living room.My mother was crying and my father was yelling ‘why me’.
