I’m a bad boy.

I’m a bad boy.

Last weekend I was at my parents’ house to bathe my pops. We got into a heated discussion.

He said something that triggered me, and I lost my composure. For the record, he’s an 80+ year-old man and always says things that are triggering.

I know this, expect this and I usually let his (and my mother’s) snarky remarks slide off me. On normal days. But that day was different.

I wasn’t my usual patient self. So I screamed. He screamed.

Then I stormed out of the house—no bath for him. I slammed the door on the way out, just to make sure he knew I wasn’t happy with him.

Today I returned to bathe him.

I apologized for being disrespectful. He apologized. I asked if he remembered why I lost my ish. He said no. So I reminded him.

He said he still didn’t remember but was sorry for his comments.

I finished bathing him, got him dressed, hugged him, and kissed him. Te quiero, papi.

I’m a decent boy, maybe.