- The night before my first recital my father snuck into my room with his long, spindly limbs. He hung from the ceiling and told me how he planned to come to my recital and sleep through the whole thing. He did come, he did sleep, and he snored loudly. This was the beginning of much disappointment.
- One time he brought his own piano to my recital and every time I played a note so did he. His long, slender fingers pressed down and produced beautiful noise. I tried to turn it into a duet, but eventually he switched it up and started improvising. I could not keep up. At the end my teacher refused to let me bow and instead called my father to the stage. I was both a disappointment and disappointed.
- My father befriended a young man named Patrick. My name is Patrick. He has started referring to me as “the worse one.” Patrick sleeps in my bed now, and I am forced to sleep in the large, uncomfortable dining room chair. We got rid of the couches because they scare Patrick. Father brought Patrick to my recital and I had to watch from stage as he called him “son” and gave him hugs and butterfly kisses. The name Patrick, my name, now makes me disappointed.
- My mother has a tomato garden full of soft, ripe tomatoes. My father showed up to my recital with a basket full of these juicy treasures. I prepared myself to be pelted with them, but instead he hit everyone except me. The rest of the piano students thought I had put him up to it and I am no longer invited to the bi-monthly sand castle making event. Now I will never get the practice I need to become a professional sand castle. The future looks very disappointing.
- Last week, my father showed up to my recital in a huff. He was wearing a long trench-coat and when he took it off he revealed that he was covered with 156 beautiful eyes. Father let out a scream and all the eyes began to bleed. I have never been more disapointed.