Read Online More Sh*t My Dad Says by Justin Halpern - Free Book Online Page A

fifty-four minutes of class.
    On the walk home from school that day, I started to panic. There were two days left until the dance, and if I didn’t get a date fast I was going to be sitting at home watching movies on my own when Friday rolled around. Aaron’s move had spurred all of our other friends to take the plunge and get dates of their own and the thought of me watching Predator by myself made me ill.
    I was so preoccupied with anxiety over homecoming that it wasn’t until I walked into my house, and saw my dad holding his car keys with a big smile on his face, that I remembered that today was the day of my second driver’s test.
    “Let’s shove this test up the DMV’s ass,” he shouted. He tossed me the keys to the Oldsmobile and led me out of the house. He grabbed the newspaper on our front lawn, opened the door to the backseat, and got in.
    “Why aren’t you sitting in the front seat?” I asked.
    “I’ve always wanted to be chauffeured. Two birds, one stone,” he said, reaching out and pulling the door shut.
    I climbed into the driver’s seat, started up the big silver sedan, and began my drive to the DMV. My dad opened up his newspaper and read in silence for a few moments before flipping down the top half of the paper and catching my eye in the rearview mirror.
    “Hey, real quick. I don’t want to flood your brain with a bunch of shit, but can I give you one piece of advice?” he said.
    “Sure.”
    “Don’t trust your instincts.”
    “What?”
    “Your instincts are dog shit,” he said, then went back to his newspaper.
    “You’re just gonna say something like that and then start reading the paper?!”
    “Well, it’s not really getting chauffeured if you don’t get to do something like read the paper,” he said.
    “That is a messed-up thing to say to me right before the test!” I yelled.
    He flipped the newspaper back down, revealing a quizzical expression.
    “What crawled up your ass?”
    “You did,” I said, starting to get flustered.
    “Look, calm down. It wasn’t a dig. I just mean that every time you’re uncomfortable and you get the option to sit something out, you sit it out. So all I was saying to you was: when your asshole gets tight, don’t listen to your gut, ’cause you’ve filled it with shit.”
    He flipped the newspaper up once more and we rode the rest of the way to the DMV in silence. I was seething with anger the whole way there, thinking about what my dad had said. “I don’t always sit things out. He doesn’t even know what I do. He’s only around me an hour a day,” I told myself, getting angrier by the minute.
    My father’s voice reverberated in my head for the next hour, as I left him outside, checked in at the DMV, and sat in the waiting room alone. It followed me as my name was called, I led my lab coat-wearing test administrator to my car, and my test began. The truth is, I had no answer for my dad’s accusation, and it infuriated me. With the DMV employee in the passenger seat next to me, I merged onto the freeway, but this time I was so preoccupied that I did so seamlessly. I was hell-bent on trying to find an example of when I had been confronted with something tough and not sat it out. Eventually, my thoughts led to asking Jenny to the homecoming dance. “That was something tough, and I didn’t sit that out,” I thought, as I turned onto the freeway exit and made a complete stop at the stop sign. Then I remembered that I hadn’t actually asked Jenny out yet. I’d only decided to ask her out. Deflated, I made a left and pulled back into the DMV’s parking lot. I felt like a total loser.
    “You passed. Congratulations,” the test administrator said as I put the car in park.
    At first I didn’t even hear him. Then he said it again and it sunk in. I had passed my driver’s test. I had accomplished one of my two goals. My dad was wrong. I got out of the car and slammed my door in triumph.
    “I passed my test,” I announced to my dad