Are You Paying Attention?
“I know how to do it,” I said to my dad with a heavy sigh. Still, he grabs the drill from my hands and insists on showing me the “correct” way to mix paint using the drill with the mixer attachment. He has shown me the correct way at least five times over the course of my life. Every time I glanced away he snapped at me and asked “Are you paying attention?” His face was red and his eyes bulged out a bit but it was not an unfamiliar facial expression, his angry face is his normal face. “Repeat the steps,” he asked me, like this paint mixing lesson would save my life one day. The thought brings about the image of a crime noir back alley bathed in darkness. There is a man there but I cannot see his face. His gun is raised in my direction and he orders me to mix the paint, correctly, or die. I chuckled. The mixer began to turn the paint and I followed my dad’s instructions that have been drilled into my head. The paint was thick yet soft as it playful twirled in the can. My attention shifted for a brief moment and some paint splashed out, leaping for freedom. I cringed as I watched a large drop land on my dad’s boot. "That's what happens when you don't pay attention!" The lessons will never be over.
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