The rage of the Snarfblat.

I went without internet for a while, so this sat in Word for a day before I could get it up here. It's fairly long, so I understand if you don't want to read it (but you could at least skip to the comic 2/3 down and then the last paragraph).

Day 4: Your Parents.

I think I am an absolutely lucky person. Seriously, blessed beyond what I deserve. I have awesome parents. They tend to be weird sometimes, but they are AWESOME.

Take my mom, for example: She is a super classy lady: poised, well-dressed, and never remotely trashy or less than age-appropriate. She is an art teacher, and she likes gardening, mission trips, and spending time with her church friends. She also opens up her house at least once a week, every weekend, for all of my friends to come hang out. This has been going on for over a decade now. I’m crediting this to my mom, even though my dad makes most of the house payments, because she is the one who cleans before and after us. Every Saturday, she’s cleaning her house so my friends and I can come wreck it the next day.  And we used to be SO BAD about it. Cups EVERYWHERE, food EVERYWHERE. Did I mention she even cooks dinner four the lot of us (as much as 15 of us) every weekend? Because she does. And it is delicious.

Aside from my mom being a total classy lady who selflessly gives her time to her students, me and my friends, prison ministries, couples ministries, her church, and other missions, and being really smart in many areas, she has a great sense of humour and a wonderfully weird streak. Now, I probably couldn’t recall a joke she’s told me if you paid me because her sense of humour lies in sarcasm, witty remarks, etc. She’s funny in the moment, and doesn’t really store up any one-liners or stories for entertainment. My dad does all of that (but it’s my mom’s turn right now). And that weird streak…well, a nickname I never talked about was one she gave to me and my sister when we were very young. I think my dad had a hand in it; it was likely a joint effort, but it seems like something my mom would do. My parents called me “Snarfblat.” I don’t know what a Snarfblat is. I think it may refer to a rather formless blob of a person who is loud, obnoxious, and smelly, i.e. a baby. Or not. I don’t really know. But yes, I grew up being called Snarfblat.

UPDATE: I have discovered the term "Snarfblat" is what Scuttle the Seagull calls a pipe in the movie The Little Mermaid.

I am now less impressed with the creativity of my parents but still just as convinced of how weird they are. END OF UPDATE.

My mom is wonderfully weird in other ways, as well, but they’re mostly “you had to be there” situations. Beyond that, she is endlessly patient, loves pretty much everyone, ever, and super optimistic. She used to help me clean my room even though she had told me about 50 times before not to let it get so messy you had to wade through the junk. Which I did. Then I didn’t want to do it alone, so she helped.

Mostly, my mom taught me how to act like a lady (I totally do know how, mom, I just don’t like to always utilize my knowledge…), how to be patient, to use proper manners, and how to tell people politely to bug off, which is an invaluable skill everyone needs to learn to use and recognize.

And now we move on to my dad.

My dad is simultaneously inspiring, terrifying, and infuriating. My dad has been my Superman since as far back as I can remember. He is 6’ 3” and a big guy, so I always knew my dad could take anyone that was going to hurt me. He also has this huge, booming voice, and when you were in trouble, you knew it. All of my male friends were terrified of him. Note that I said “male friends” not “boyfriends,” though they were scared of him, too. For some of my friends, he has this way of appearing in the doorway any time they were going to say something inappropriate. Many were convinced he didn’t like them, which is completely not true. My dad just has a strict set of morals and sense of chivalry that people don’t often hold on to nowadays. He doesn’t bend those morals, either. He has a strong loyalty to his family, his church, and his friends, and I admire him for that. He also respects my mom, and I really respect him for that, because she really deserves it.

But sometimes I just want to throw things, he gets me so badly. Here is a frequent exchange (in technicolor, rageface format) between me (the time-waster, procrastinator, and person with no idea how time passes) and him (the always-on-time, my-way-or-the-highway one):

Yeah. That. Completely infuriating. This stopped for a while, when I moved out for college. When I moved back in with the parents, it started up again. I understand the reasoning: he wanted to know how late he should leave the door unlocked or the alarm turned off and at what point he should call the police should I be MIA. I just wanted to freaking do what I wanted to do without limitations. But now it doesn't happen anymore, much, because I just moved out of the house for real (to rent the house next door XD).

But I know my dad loves me. He’s been trying his best to give me the tools to be a successful, contributing member of society. And, for the most part, I have those now. Except at the moment, when I need to leave in 20 minutes, but I’m still in my pajamas (I love you, Dad).

One more thing about my dad: He is really funny. He has the fastest wit I’ve seen, and is so good at sarcasm, I’ve learned to doubt everything anyone is saying if it could be the least bit humourous. He also knows SO MANY JOKES. I think he lied about majoring in accounting; I think he majored in gorram comedy. The man knows one-liners, stories, riddles, Boudreaux and Thibodeaux jokes GALORE, and probably has about four hundred funny stories from his lifetime. And if they weren’t funny then, he makes them funny now. I think a good sense of humour lets life be easier and more manageable. It helps us roll with the punches.

My dad has taught me that responsibility is important, and it lies on my shoulders; my life decisions are made by no one but me. I should always be on time, and even a bit early if I can help it, and that if you can’t learn to learn from then laugh at your mistakes then it will be really hard to be happy.

To wrap up: I have never heard my parents raise their voices (except my dad yelling at the hammer that smashed his finger, and even then he managed not to curse), I know they never end a day mad at each other if they can possibly help it, and I know they love me and my sister an absolutely ridiculous amount and would do anything to make sure we are prepared and happy in life. They are the awesomest parents ever in the history of parents.