Last week at this time, I had fun at my mother's expense. This week, I'll give dads equal time.
My dad, like most dads, was always concerned with household excess. Electricity was a huge one.
When I was 11, my dad told me: "Son, I don't think you have ever turned OFF a light."
Every day when he got home from work and started making the rounds turning off light switches, he'd grumble about "single-handedly keeping the power company in business."
Dad was insane about doors, too. He thought every kid either kept a door open too long, or slammed it shut too hard.
You weren't allowed to open the refrigerator door for more than three seconds. You had to decide what you wanted to eat before you opened the door, then execute its retrieval with the quick precision of a special forces extraction.
In the summer, you had to get out of the front door in under three seconds or you would be accused of "trying to air condition the whole neighborhood."
You couldn't shut a door without him accusing you of slamming it — cabinet doors, and bedroom doors — and especially car doors.
Oh, and don't get me on Dad and cars. Thankfully, most of those complaints were about Mom; never to mom, but about mom.
"Son, your momma is just so hard on a car. She races up to a red light, and she hasn't encountered a curb yet that she didn't hit, and obviously considers a car a rolling trash can."
But I love Mom and Dad, and I almost dare to say I wouldn't be here without them.