Explained: Parents

by Luc Reid

“When I brought home my history test the other day, I thought my dad was going to kill me,” John said.

His friend Sunil just shook his head. “I know, seriously. My stepdad was the same way when he found out I flunked math.”

“He just keeps saying ‘Sixty four! Sixty four!’ like I couldn’t read my own grade–”

“I hate it when they do that.”

“–and he’s practically ripping my head off about it, and I’m like, ‘Give me a break, Dad! There’s more to life than brains!'”

“Whoa, heads up, man! Old Lady Heiserman, twelve o’clock.”

John looked up just in time to see Mrs. Heiserman throw her walker aside and lurch toward him and Sunil. He reached behind him and had to flail around with his hand for few seconds before he could get a grip on the iron pry bar he kept in his backpack, but he got it just in time and walloped Mrs. Heiserman over the head. She must have been hungry, though, because it barely slowed her down. John kicked her in the knee, and she collapsed on the sidewalk, hissing at him. While she was regenerating, he and Sunil ran across the Webers’ lawn and took the back way home.

“Freaking adults, man,”

“I know,” said Sunil.

Back at the house, John’s mom was home from work at the Children’s Hospital and was making coconut baked fish. They tried going through the living room, but she must have heard them.

“Homework! Do your homework!” she moaned, lurching toward them.

“I will, Mom. We’re just going to play Wii in my room for a few minutes, then we’ll get right to it.”

“Homework first!” She lurched toward them, snatching at John’s head. “Brains!”

“Come on, Mom, leave my brains alone,” John said. He and Sunil sprinted into his room and barricaded the door behind them.

“Comb your hair!” his mom groaned.

“Man, I hope when I’m an adult, I don’t turn into such a zombie,” John said.

“Seriously, man,” Sunil said, hooking an open bag of Doritos from the dresser. “Seriously.”