I Think My Dad Is a Drug Lord

My dad. Basically.

I think my parents are selling drugs.

Now I know what you’re thinking: didn’t I just do a post exploring the hunch that I might be a drug mule for Marge, the cleaning lady at work?   The answer is yes, I did.  I won’t deny that this is perhaps too  much fascination with drug running in too little time.  But I have ample evidence and I’d like to make my case.

I’m visiting home this weekend for the first time since Christmas and have found a number of interesting additions to the household.  There’s a new, fancy garbage can that lets itself down easily,  an authentic, antique sewing machine, which hides away in a desktop (complete with paperwork), and a freezer chest.

Apparently my parents have such a constant superfluity of meat that they require a freezer chest to hold it all. 

There are only two of them and they still have enough meat to warrant this purchase, so that gives you a sense of how much meat I was eating while I was growing up.   That may have something to do with why my weight hit triple digits in 6th grade.    I haven’t seen a single digit pant size since.  I can’t help it – I was raised on delicious animal carcass.

There is no way they can afford these things without my dad being a drug lord.   My family has been poor my entire life.   Don’t get me wrong – we were blessed with a number of lovely half-houses and I never went to bed hungry (though the same couldn’t be said for my parents).   Growing up, my brothers and I used to joke about how awesome it would be to have milk and cereal in the house at the same time.

I remember this ridiculous attempt my parents once made to help cut down on grocery bills.  Their plan was to allot each child a grocery allowance and we could only eat the food that we bought throughout the day.  Dinner was covered by them. 

My brothers were 3 and 7 years older than I, and at the time I think I was 8.    So naturally I bought bread, peanut butter, and jelly.   One of my brothers brought home three loaves of bread and an enormous pack of deli meat.   He ate nothing but ham sandwiches for two weeks before my parents noticed the inherent flaw and cancelled the grocery allowance strategy.  It’s one of my fondest memories of childhood.

So you can imagine my concern today as I step into my parents’ home to find all these newly acquired conveniences.    My mind cannot compute how they can possibly afford this unless they’re involved in dirty, grimy drug money.

I imagine my father would be the brains of the operation; my mother is far from intimidating.   Suddenly it’s all starting to make sense that my dad is so antisocial and refuses to use ample lighting in the house when he’s home.  He’s a hulk of a man and has fists that could pound a tunnel through a mountain.   These are all clear marks of a drug lord.  Then again, as I sit here writing this I notice that he has also spent this alleged drug money on a new stack of Wii games and is currently playing Epic Mickey.

I’m not so sure that being into a Nintendo game featuring a Disney mouse setting things right in the world with a magical paintbrush quite fits the profile. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, family, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011