I get the feeling that my father is trying to get ahead of my threat to call his financial advisor, so I’d just like to point out that he’s a big ol’ liar.
It’s anyone but me because he’s jealous of my musical talent and visual appeal. When he failed to get the money last time, because he was told, it’s not yours, your son’s money doesn’t belong to you, (does your father own your money?) he sabotaged the piano in the living room. After it was repaired, it somehow ended up with another damaged key, immediately after the repairman had serviced the thing, which had followed decades of no key-break issues whatsoever despite me playing it quite extensively since I moved back in 2015 and had it tuned for the first time in 20 years (he had to do it twice, and then again a few months later, but it worked).
He’s just a jealous guy… Watch out, he’s just a jealous guy… Look out, he’s just a jealous guy…
When he was young, he would toot a few notes on the clarinet and claim to be Woody Herman. So when he hears his son Daniel play music very capably, he got very jealous.
The only compliment I’ve received about my musicianship from them was last year at the BCHS reunion musical, where I played 42 songs on the bass guitar, which I had to learn in just two months, including some ridiculously hard numbers.
They related to me that someone else, Margo Meijer, who was the daughter of one of my mother’s tennis friends, had high words of praise. (She had introduced herself there, in person, as well).
The green-eyed monster. I have to be the top guy. Me.
Well—here’s what you say to children, instead of “You’re the smartest person in the world, ever”—”It’s a world of merit, so you need to apply yourself to learn something of value out there, and it helps to punch your own weight.”
Probably with a pithier wording, though.
