Actually, the dinner we were having was nothing to celebrate, unless they were giving out trophies for boring meals.
I mean, I like my life calm, but not my food. We were having more chicken and some sort of salad and peas. My mom always served peas even though none of us liked them. Tuffin just threw his, Libby hid hers in her napkin, and I always slipped mine up onto one of the hidden slats under the table. My dad wasn’t home from work yet, which was unusual. Normally he came home early and watched TV or helped us do our homework. We were just about to worry when he pulled up to the house and honked twice like he always did.
A couple of seconds later, he came busting through the door. He was smiling and singing some song about good fortune.
He patted me on the head, pinched Tuffin on the cheek, and winked at Libby. He then picked up my mom and kissed her. It sort of made me lose my appetite.
It wasn’t unusual for my dad to be happy. He was a smiling, double-honking, complimenting, loud-laughing kind of guy. Everyone was his friend, and the world was a place he liked. He loved his job, he loved wearing a suit and tie every day, and he loved, well … he loved everything.
He was embarrassing like all dads, but at least he was nice. Rourk’s dad was embarrassing and the opposite of nice.
So we were all pretty interested in what was making our dad act so happy. He was practically bouncing off the walls, and there were at least ten things out of place on him.
I had no idea what the great news was. I was aware, though, that my dad and me had very different opinions about what was great. He thought things like ant farms and self-discipline were fantastic, while I thought things like the latest video games and pools shaped like money signs were more “da bomb.” So I was pretty sure that whatever my dad was hopped up about would be something I didn’t care for. My dad kept singing and dancing around the table until my mom gently said,
Okay, you need to know this. My dad has his own business. It’s called Earl M. Burnside and Associates. He sells playgrounds and basketball courts and really anything that you might find at a playground or gym. Well, according to my dad, his company had just won the award for …
We all congratulated him and then went back to eating our chicken. I’m glad I didn’t get too excited. I was happy for my dad, but the award didn’t sound very impressive. I mean, who wants to win for the smallest business? My dad did like little things, so I could see why he was pumped up. He liked little snacks, little puzzles, little stories. He even liked little cheap headphones, where I liked the big ones.
My dad continued to jump up and down. I guessed he had more good news to tell us. Since he had won for being the outstanding small business for the western region, not including California, he had also won a trip for eight to a fancy hotel in New Mexico.
Libby started to huff and puff about what I had said until my mom spoke up:
My dad went on and on about how he had already rented an RV and we were going to leave this Sunday and drive to New Mexico and stop at interesting sights.
We were also going to take a famous old mountain train to a beautiful hotel where he was going to be the honored guest at a banquet where he would get his award for being the …
I was a little excited. If we were going next week, that meant I would be able to miss some school. Besides, I had never been to New Mexico. It could be fun. I mean, it might be nice to take a trip and get away from it all.
Uh-oh. My stomach started to hurt, and I could actually see fear in my sister’s eyes. The last time we had heard my dad mention “best news yet” was when he had signed us up as a family to sing a song in church.
It turned out that the best news this time was almost as bad. Since the trip was for eight people and we only had five, my dad had invited my uncle and aunt and their obnoxious son, Kyle.
Libby started to cry and ran off. My mom looked upset, and Tuffin started to chant.
This was not good. Even though Tuffin liked him, Kyle was the worst. I was amazed at how much I now missed our normal boring dinners.