My Father's a Homo

Everyone Hates His Parents

A/N: Sorry for not posting in fricking ages. Being back at school has kicked me in the ass, and it's been hard to find the motivation to write, I guess (yay, depression). But I am most definitely not putting this fic on hold, and I'll try to update it at least once a week. Enjoy the chapter, my dudes.

That Sunday, I was sitting waiting for Mom to come and collect me. Whizzer had a client in that day (his photography studio was doing really well, from what I'd heard), and Dad was really tired, so he wasn't much fun.

I pulled out my trusty journal and began to write.

Every Sunday, when Mom comes to pick me up, she and Dad end up fighting. Sometimes they get along, but mostly they argue about the bar mitzvah. It's not as if it's a funeral, so what's so upsetting? They're all yelling, and they're all ruining it! My bar mitzvah is a celebration. Where I get richer. But NO, they all have to yell. What have I done to deserve this?

Just then, a resounding knock came from the front door. I had just gotten my journal back into my bag when Mom and Mendel walked in. And, just as I thought, an argument immediately ensued.

"I want the Applebaums," began Mom. "They're really lovely people and they like me!"

"They're boring," countered Dad, "and she doesn't like you, just the way you dress, if you want my opinion."

"Well to be fair, who wouldn't?" joked Mendel, attempting to lighten the situation. Mom and Dad both shot him angry glares, and he sat down next to me, sighing in defeat.

"Have the Applebaums!"

"Screw the Applebaums!"

I desperately tried to break them apart, jumping up and yelling, "Please don't do this!"

They didn't even seem to hear me.

"Saul's a jerk!"

"Have them!"

"Nix them!"

Once again, Mendel tried to diffuse the situation, "Long live the Abblebaums! But why are we doing this? Arguing takes work."

I slumped back down onto the sofa, muttering, "I hate this."

This time, they actually did hear me. Makes perfect logical sense: when I'm screaming in their faces it's as if I'm not even there, but the one time I mutter darkly under my breath, they hear perfectly.

"Blame her!" Dad yelled, turning to face me. "What's even the point of having a big do? It's all a waste!"

Mom didn't take that too well. Aghast, she pulled Dad back around to face her, yelling "You're gonna blame me? You have paintings of dicks! Don't talk to me about taste!"

To be fair, she wasn't lying. Dad had some a painting of some suspiciously dick-like flowers hanging beside the front door. I'm pretty sure Whizzer dared him to buy it.

While everyone was caught up in the dick-flowers, I took my chance to interject. "Stop! I don't want a bar mitzvah! Okay? I don't want a bar mitzvah!"

Mom and Dad nearly fell over. Mom spun me around to face her, asking in a soft tone, "What do you mean you don't want a bar mitzvah?"

"How do you think we feel about that?" Dad also asked in a soft tone, also spinning me around to face him.

Before anything truly drastic could happen, Mendel once again interjected. He took Mom and Dad by the shoulders, and led them over to the seats, allowing them to resume a glaring match as Mendel talked to me.

He began to dance towards me, chanting in Italian or something. He's tried to teach me a few times, but evidently nothing has ever stuck, because I couldn't understand a single word of what he was saying.

Sighing, he turned me around and started talking. In English, this time.

"Jason, bud, everyone hates his parents, don't be ashamed, okay? You'll grow up, come through. Maybe one day you'll even have kids, and guess what?"

"What?" I asked grumpily.

"They'll hate you too."

I giggled slightly, before I turned and once again saw the annoyed faces of Mom and Dad.

"But Mendel, I don't wanna do it," I tried to explain. "I don't wanna do anything just to give them pleasure, or whatever this is about. I don't want a bar mitzvah. I mean, with the way they're always on each other's backs about it, if it were your bar mitzvah, would you?"

Standing up and walking over to the table (and garnering some strange looks from Dad), Mendel resumed his spiel.

"Like I said Jason, everyone hates their parents - I mean, it's in the Torah! It's what we can see throughout history, in fact God said to Moses-"

At this point he climbed up onto the table. I didn't need to around to know Dad was glaring daggers at him, and that Mom had her face in her hands.

"Moses, everyone hates his parents: that's how it is!" Mendel said in a terrible stereotypical New York accent which sounded very out of place among his usual light, airy tones.

At this point, Dad pulled me over to sit between him and Mom.

"Don't feel guilty, kid, but you're going to have to kill your mother. This will humiliate her, so be merciful and kill her," he stated as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Jason, darling, don't get nervous, I'm right here," added Mom. "I'm grateful, and hoping that you'll do what I pray you'll do. Just don't use guns. Please."

I was then dragged away (once again) by Mendel.

"Oh my God. Now I understand what you meant. In time through, they'll cool out and you'll realise that they were just messing around, you know?"

I raised a single eyebrow at him, and he shrugged, before turning to face Mom and Dad and pushing them towards the door, yelling after them.

"Call the Applebaums, work it out, pick out a gorgeous centrepiece, thank you!"

And with that, the door was closed behind them. Mendel feigned falling to the floor dead as I laughed harder than I had in years.

A/N: Oh poor, sweet, naïve Jason. Thinking that a bar mitzvah is his only problem. I may sound evil here, but I'm crying typing this, knowing what's coming.

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