Recently, my dad and I have become obsessed with Funyuns—a snack food that my father’s convinced will cause the intestinal villi to gain consciousness and revolt. However, my dad’s “warning” has done nothing to curb my impulses. When we’re in the car and my father asks me what I want for dinner, I’ll just shout “FUNYUN.”
Oddly enough, this isn’t the behavior I’m most ashamed of because, last week, when my father was out of the house, I ate all his Funyuns. I don’t know why—Funyuns are objectively terrible—but I do know that I soon fled the scene to go to my mother’s house. A few hours later, I had this conversation with my father:
Dad: THERE N0 M0RE FUNYUN Me: LOLOLOL
Dad: MY FUNYUN
Me: SUX 2 B U
Dad: 0mg my car reeks 0f 0ni0ns
This kind of conversation is pretty par for the course when it comes to my parents, but it took me the longest time to realize that no, most dads don’t type in all caps, and no, most children do not sass their parents as much as I do. As for my dad, it only took him about 30 seconds after his keyboard’s “o” key broke to decide that no, buying a new keyboard for his iPad was not worth it, and that yes, using zeros and ctrl+v-ing when he actually needs an “o” was the optimal solution. His new habit manages to both annoy me to no end and brighten my day.
Although I love joking around with my dad, sometimes it feels like a part of my life that I have to hide. Especially during COVID-19, his childish behavior has caused some unfortunate mishaps. My dad and I have been mistaken as friends, brother and sister, and even partners. Don’t get me wrong, I will always love joking around with my dad in public, but I wonder if our immaturity is what leads to this confusion. Honestly, I would love to attribute the entire debacle to the fact that masks make my dad look younger and make me look older, but this phenomenon has happened while unmasked, too.
About a year ago, my dad and I played a Magic: The Gathering card game tournament. Throughout the day, we played, won, lost, and chatted with each other and the other competitors. My dad was being his normal, charming (if not embarrassing) self, and I was joking right alongside him. We launched insults and adolescent humor around like we had no filter.
The next match started, so we went to find our tables. My match finished quickly, and I talked with my opponent, who was somewhere in his early 30s, for a while after our game. We had a pleasant conversation until I saw my dad come over. Two things happened in quick succession. First, I said something along the lines of “Dad, how’d you do?” Second, the guy’s face fell. After that, our conversation became a lot more awkward.
I didn’t know what was happening at the time, but on the ride back, my dad explained that the poor guy was probably “interested” (as he put it), and that the guy maybe didn’t realize I was a teenager or that my dad was… well, my dad. Why? Probably because of our earlier joking. The realization was horrifying in the moment, but, thinking back on it, I wouldn’t trade anything for my dad’s adolescent humor.
So yes, my dad is a bit juvenile, and yes, it’s sometimes too much. But does my dad actually believe that Funyuns will cause intestinal villi to gain consciousness and parasitically take over your brain? No. However, if you ask him about it, he will insist his claim is true.
My dad acts just about as childishly as a 13-year-old prepubescent boy, and sometimes he (intentionally or unintentionally) embarrasses me to no end. But he’s also the one who made my stuffed animals (like Pusheen) come to life. Without his willingness to let loose and be childish, I don’t think I would have the same bravery or creative capacity. I don’t think I would be pursuing the performing arts as a major if he wasn’t as willing to be as undeniably himself as he is. He’s the best dad I could’ve ever wished for because he’s helped me become confident and comfortable with who I am.
