Well… You could say that…
I remember the first night. I was 14, did the typical 14-year-old thing- went out, got hammered under a bridge, and tried to have it off with Kevin Locksley behind a tree. Key word here: tried.
The moron was just figuring out how to get his fingers under my knickers when we heard it- RAP-RAP-RAP-RAP-RAP! – and the spotlights appeared. ‘Oh my god…’ I facepalmed as Kieth or Kenny or whatever ran away screaming. I glared up at the heavens. ‘Daaaadddd! He was cool!’
‘Shut up and get in.’ My dad lowered his body and opened his doors. ‘I can’t believe it. My own daughter under a bridge with Barney Gumble over there, and where is your phone, young lady? Do you know how many missed calls you have from me and your poor mother? Christ! The woman is worried sick! She was leaking thousands of liters of petrol and it is entirely your fault! Consider yourself ground-ed for a lifetime, kiddo!’
I might have cared about this, instead I threw up on his windscreen wipers the moment we landed. As he powered down I noticed his fuel gauge was low. I smirked and poured the remains of my beer into his fuel socket- helicopters don’t have arms, so he was quite understandably pissed- ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop that this instant! Don’t make me turn your mother on!’
Of course, his voice got considerably more slurred as he totally peaced out. ‘Ya think I wanna be a bad daddy? I don’t wanna be a bad daddy honey c’mere I love you honey I’m shorry you’re not grounded I’m sho shorry pleaser forgiven me?!’
I gave his windows a reassuring tap as I wiped the vomit off of his front windows and nodded, watching the fuel leaking out. He took a flight earlier that morning, wavering in midair like a bumblebee and slurring something about not being a bird or a plane…
Psshhh, helicopter parents, right?