Fish Sticks for Dinner
Everything was normal the day we sat around the table to eat fish sticks for dinner. It was mid May, 2009. Mom and dad had called me and my siblings inside from playing on our front lawn. It was the perfect temperature, warm with a breeze. We came to the table, and I sat in the seat closest to the TV to catch the best view. My dad stood to my right. He always stood on a casual night like this, we only had four chairs for the five of us. Everything is quiet, and the TV isn’t even on. My parents start to tell us something, but I wasn’t sure what it was about. Isabella was crying, Antonio too. I still don’t know what they’re talking about, I don’t understand. I did understand that the fish sticks placed in front of me were gross. I guess Isabella hadn’t liked it either, hers had gone cold.
Things were still normal after my parents told us they were getting divorced, they seemed okay. Dad spent the rest of the summer at home, spending every night fixing up one of his rental properties—a three-bedroom townhouse for us. There was a room for my dad, one for Antonio, and one for Isabella and me to share. We moved in August. I don’t remember moving, but I remember how excited I was to have the top bunk. I’ve always wanted the top bunk. Mom, on the other hand, stayed at the home we had all once shared. I remember when I first saw her on a lawn mower. She looked confused and our grass looked awful that week. I was never aware that my mom struggled during that time, not until recently. Man, she’s strong.
I remember when I realized I didn’t like red apples, but that I liked apple toaster strudels. I was sitting on a stool in my dad’s kitchen, well, outside the kitchen wall looking into the pass-through. I felt cool, like I was sitting at a bar. It was the weekend and I wanted breakfast. I saw an apple, grabbed it, took a bite, and spit it out. It was mushy. Dad said most red delicious apples are kinda mushy. He ate the rest of it for me as to not waste it, then popped a toaster strudel in the toaster for me. Now that, that was delicious. I haven’t had a toaster strudel since.
Dad let me pick out and adopt a cat when we moved into his new house. I picked the sick and frail one, but he was cute, and I would take care of him. Oreo was probably an emotional support cat for me, now that I think of it. My sister got a dog at the same time, and her dog used to drag my cat around the kitchen table by his ear. Asshole.
I don’t remember when or how I met Jeff – one day he was a part of our lives and he lived with us for a few years. I enjoyed having him around. He worked as a part-time wedding florist and would let me design my own bouquet from the extra flowers. One time when he needed my attention, he singsongingly called me “baby chichi mama,” a nickname that stuck for a while around the house. Jeff was fun – his van didn't have car seats and he showed us scary movies. He’s the one who gifted me my favorite hat.
I remember when I found out that Jeff was my dad’s boyfriend. I didn’t know what “being gay” meant at age 7. I was at the kitchen table while Mom talked to Dad about her upcoming vacation to California. Mom was talking about seeing an old friend, and mentioned that he recently came out. I said being gay was gross, not knowing what it actually meant. Dad didn’t talk to me for a week after that. When Dad wouldn’t tell me why he was upset, Isabella explained it to me. So Jeff isn’t just Dad’s best friend that sleeps in the same room as him? Okay cool. He forgave me eventually, he knew I didn’t care who he loved, as long as he was being loved right. They eventually broke up when Jeff wouldn’t do anything but watch Desperate HouseWives.
I remember when a girl from the neighborhood called my dad a fag on the bus when I was young. If I didn’t have a conscience I would have beat her fucking ass. Luckily, the bus driver made her sit alone in the front, dad wouldn’t have wanted me to get in trouble for him.
I have always wondered how long my father knew he was gay. I’d wonder if he always knew but wanted children, or if he suppressed it until he couldn't. My theory is that he always knew he liked men, but didn’t realize that he didn’t actually like women. Regardless of everything, one thing never changed: my mom and dad have always been and will always be friends.
I haven’t had fish sticks since I was 5 and my parents got divorced, but that’s okay, I never really liked them anyway.
