Read Online I'm Down: A Memoir by Mishna Wolff - Free Book Online Page B

of shoes. I don’t want you or your sister to even go near them.” Dad also had on these socks that were like panty-hosefor men. I had no idea he knew about all this fashion stuff from, but I thought he looked really rich. I thought maybe we had come into some money. But then again I had watched him siphon gas out of someone else’s car the week before, and we hadn’t exactly had dinner, so that seemed unlikely.
    We got to my school late, and from the second we walked in the door of the building my dad wouldn’t uncross his arms. I thought he looked so good that he was sure to impress and when we walked into the classroom, everyone looked at us. None of the other parents had dressed up, and as Dad walked through my classroom toward the presentations we had made about ancient Roman life, he said to me, “You know your classmates’ folks could dress a little better.” We walked around the room alone. The kids that were there weren’t kids that I felt like I could just hang out with, and the other parents seemed to be in small discussion groups talking to each other. Dad and I just looked at everything in the room once and headed for the door. “Dad,” I asked, “aren’t you even gonna talk to any of the other parents?” To which my dad’s response was, “About what?”
    That was when Mrs. Lewis called, “Mr. Wolff.” And he sighed before turning around. Mrs. Lewis chatted with him and did a quick round of intros to all of the parents and kids in the room. I was glad Latecia and Lanelle, the only black kids in class, were there because I thought it would reassure him about IPP. Then Mrs. Lewis led him to a group of parents talking as incessantly as she did. Dad held my hand tightly and looked at me as if to ask, “Is this lady for real?”
    “We were just talking about working with flashcards,” Marylyn’s father said as Dad joined the conversation. “I found them very helpful when I was teaching Marylyn her multiplication tables. What do you think, John?”
    “Uh-huh,” my dad said. “I think, good parenting is about dicipline.”
    Donald Lin’s mother said, “I used flashcards to get Don ready for the spelling bee last year.”
    “Well, it worked!” Marylyn’s father joked, and everyone started laughing. That was when Marylyn’s father actually turned his back to Dad and edged us out of the conversation as he started a story, “You know, believe it or not, Marylyn didn’t always have the highest math scores.”
    Dad responded, “I know one thing. You disrespect me like that again, you’re gonna feel it.”
    “Excuse me? I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand what you mean. If I have managed to offend you . . .”
    “You heard me,” Dad said, staring him down for a moment before grabbing my hand and turning to Mrs. Lewis. “Thank you for your little show. I wish everyone here had some manners.” Then he dragged me out. And as we walked out of the building he tugged at his tie and warned me about yuppies adding as we pulled up to the house that they were a, “Waste of good clothes.”
     
    A few days later, after coming the long way home past Cousin Jane’s house, I walked in the house to find Anora sitting in front of the TV with a bowl of ice cream, looking dazed. Her head was completely bandaged in white gauze, and she seemed to be drooling into her ice cream.
    “What happened to you?” I asked.
    “I’m not supposed to fall asleep,” she said.
    “Why?” I asked. “What’s up with your head?”
    “I was playing,” she said, and went back to
Care Bears
.
    I knew Dad must be home and I screamed, “What happened to Anora’s head?”
    Dad entered from the bathroom with a newspaper under his arm. But rather than answer my question he looked alarmedas he saw Anora’s ice cream dripping on the antelope-skin, African-drum coffee table.
    “Shit, Mishna, get a rag!” Dad yelled as he hurried to set the newspaper under her bowl.
    I hurried to the kitchen and wet a rag. And as