Hot Dog
The oldest memory that I can recall was the time that me and my dad viewed the fat boxy t.v. we had resting on the old dusty dresser. We often found ourselves lying besides each other on the massive water bed with thick heavenly blankets hugging us as we were absorbed into the cartoons, that would occasionally be in black and white. I remember him always on my left as he watched, uttering comical remarks and making sure that I didn’t fall asleep. I remember his arm embracing my small frame making me feel me safe, making me feel loved.
I remember one time in particular, he sent me to go get him a hot dog. Of course, I went to go fetch him one but… I never delivered. After a while, he came searching for me in the kitchen. He had a smirk across his lips as he slowly stepped in circling around the dining table. Then all of a sudden he screamed bending down under the wooden stand, where I was hidden. I let out a yelp, giggling scooting backwards against the wall. He had already predicted what had happened.
“Where’s the hot dog?” he asked peering into my face.
“I dunno,” I snickered concealing my hands behind my back.
“Uh huh, well then let me see your hand.” I stuck out my left hand, empty. “Your other one.” I stuck out my right hand, also empty. “Hm… Well okay then. C’mon, “ he got up with a sigh and I followed right behind him. As I stood up, the half eaten hot dog had slipped out from my cheeks, and not the ones on my face. Once he turned around and saw the hot dog bounce across the tile floor, he lost it.
I can still remember how hard he laughed. He even got to the point where he went silent, clapping his hands as his face went bright red, with a ridiculously wide toothy grin.
That is a memory I can never forget, or more like my mother will never let me live down.
