This Is a Book - Demetri Martin [16]
First of all, you have a non-wolf imparting wolf teachings. This is confusing under the best conditions. When I was a little kid it was more than confusing, it was downright upsetting. The chasing, barking, and general canine behavior my father displayed around the house often terrified me and ruined a lot of my childhood experiences (not to mention my bedroom furniture).
My father’s wolf background really colored my view of the world as a child. Dad hated fairy tales. If you even mentioned one to him, he’d launch into one of his long, self-righteous speeches about wolf stereotyping and the damage done to the wolf community by the “prey-biased fairy-tale media.” His parenting skills were minimal to nonexistent. And when he did try to raise me, it felt a lot more like being trained than being raised. Although, I have to admit, it was often quite effective. When your father bites you in the back of the neck, you learn things pretty fast.
Of course, Dad never stopped to ask me about my interests. He just assumed that I was interested in wolves.
Every year, when Halloween came around, guess what we had to be?… Yep, a pack of wolves. And my mother went right along wit it, just like everything else Dad wanted. She always enabled him. And if I tried to talk to her about it, she would say things like “What do you expect, he was raised by wild animals”—as if I didn’t know that already. Thanks, Mom.
One time I asked my mother if she thought she would have been with my father if he had not been raised by wolves. She got really quiet and looked hurt. Then, without saying anything, she turned, walked off, and went into the backyard to feed my father. I never brought it up again.
Mom’s not the only one who enables my dad. My little brother, who is an actual wolf my parents adopted, is crazy. It doesn’t take a genius to guess who Dad’s favorite is… Yep, it’s my brother, Gary, the real wolf. Gary and I never got along as kids/cubs. And now as adults we don’t even talk (mostly because he can’t). But even if he could talk, he’s so unreasonable and ferocious, I wouldn’t want to talk to him anyway.
When Dad had our last name legally changed to “Wolf” it didn’t sit well with a lot of people, least of all with me. Having the first name “Wolf” was already hard enough for me. Then finding out suddenly that I would be called “Wolf Wolf” for the rest of my life just flat out pissed me off.
Try going to a dinner party and getting introduced as “Wolf Wolf”:
MY FRIEND: “Have you two met? No? Well let me introduce you. This is my friend Wolf Wolf.”
ME: “Hey.”
CUTE WOMAN: “What?”
When I say my name, people often think I’m joking, or worse, barking. I remember complaining to my father about this and then having to listen to one of his usual lectures about how I’m not proud of my wild roots, etc. Man, he is so out of touch.
Sometimes Dad has the wolves over. This never goes well. My grandparents, if you can even call them that, are even harder to relate to than my father. They’re actually crazy. When I’m with them I get the feeling that they would kill me if we weren’t related. Dad disagrees with me about this, but he just doesn’t understand. He can’t see anything outside of his little wolf bubble.
One time, when I was actually attacked by a wolf (no relation), my father pretty much took the wolf’s side, even though he didn’t even know the wolf personally. That really hurt, and I’ve never forgotten it.
Probably the worst fight my father and I ever had was the time I called him a cliché. He stormed off to his den in the backyard and howled out there until one of the neighbors called the police.
For all of its problems, though, I can’t say there haven’t been some great things about having a dad who was raised by wolves. Camping with him has always been a lot of fun. Dad is great at hunting and tracking and running around aimlessly in the woods. And he