The Checklist

Playing Cupid

I was lying on my back on the couch, staring at the kitchen. I'm hungry, I thought. I blinked, exhaled, and continued to stare at the kitchen trying to think of what there could be to eat. There's nothing to eat, my brain replied. There's never anything to eat. It's not that we can't afford to eat, it's just that Dad honestly doesn't know how to shop for groceries. Most kids at school say that. Everyone I talk to says that their dad only cooks spaghetti, mac&cheese, hot dogs, and pancakes. Everyone's moms always cook good food, and it's the same thing here; the difference is that I don't have a mom to cover the job. I just have my dad and his five meals.

"Dad! What's for dinner?" I called, hoping that he could hear me from upstairs.

"I was thinking spaghetti? Does that sound ok, kiddo?" I heard his voice call back. I held back a groan in case he could hear me. I rolled off the couch and just laid face down on the floor for a while. I don't know why I asked. I could have told you that it would be spaghetti, but I was trying to hold on to that glimmer of hope that he'd say grilled chicken or pork chops or stroganoff or something.

I turned my head so he could audibly hear me yell, "Yeah, sounds great!" I could almost see his face of relief at my approval and he'd continue doing laundry or whatever. I love my dad, and I know he tries his best. I would never want anyone else. I have by far the best dad in the school. Despite his lack of culinary skills and his love of terrible puns, he's always done by himself what other kids need two parents to do. He worked the nightshift at the office when I was little, so he was there to drive me to school, pick me up, send me to bed, and sleep in between.  I turned sixteen a few months ago, so he switched up his schedule. I'm in a lot of activities, so our lives are kinda crazy, but I can drive myself now, so it's easier for him.  Now he works whatever shifts he can fit around our schedule.  He's home and rested enough to make it to my late-night show performances, middle of the day track and speech meets, and early morning basketball tournaments.

He's always done everything to make me happy, and he's always been there for me. I don't think I return the favor well enough. All I am is a burden. He never does anything for himself anymore. He gives all his free time to me and all I am is an extra expense. Plus I remind him of Mom. I have his bright blue eyes, but mom's auburn hair and sharp face shape. From what Dad's told me, I have her energy too. Dad loves people and socializing, but he is fairly mellow. I'm almost bouncing off the walls and buzzing with excitement all the time.

I could hear him coming down the stairs now, but I'm both too slow and too lazy at the moment to move from the floor before he sees me. "Kiddo, can you go gr- Oh! Roman, are you ok? Are you sick? Why are you on the floor?" He put down the laundry basket by the stairs and rushed over to me.  He brushed away my hair and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead to check for the fever I didn't have, but I rolled over and sat up.

"Yeah, Dad I'm fine," I assured him, "I just fell off the couch and was too lazy to get up," I gave him my best, lopsided smile that has always made him feel better ever since I was little. I think I got that from Mom too.

"Oh, ok. Silly boy," he sighed in relief and ruffled my hair.

"Did you need me to do something?" I asked. He paused and stared at me for a moment before his thought seemed to come back to him.

"Right! Could you take your laundry from downstairs and fold it, so I can put the towels in?" He asked and nodded his head to the laundry basket full of towels and rags that was next to the stairs.

"Yeah, of course, Dad," I nodded and got up. Dad got up close behind me and patted my back, "I can take the towels down and throw them in if you want. If I'm going down to grab mine, there's no point in you making the extra trip," I offered and grabbed the basket.