Practice What You Preach, Dad.

By Lee A. Zito

My father is going to become a deacon in the catholic church and for what? He does not know God. He does not know Jesus. He does not know the Holy Spirit. All he knows is chicken soup for the soul stories and their tender endings that entail "And the little boy with one leg found his lost dog and knew Jesus had answered his prayer."

My father does not know understanding. When it comes to disciplining my sisters and I he resorts to stupidity. For example, my sisters get into an argument while he is painting the walls for my annoying holier-than-thou mother and how does he solve it? He swipes their face with the house paint which gets in one of my sisters mouth. Gee I guess he got caught up in the moment and forgot the paint is poisonous.

You might be wondering why I choose to write this essay now.

Stained glass at St John the Baptist's Anglican Ch...

English: Roman Catholic Infant Baptism in the Unit...

Painting

What drove me over the edge after almost four years of dealing with his fake religious stance. I went to my room. Yes, I went to my room and didn't realize he had just painted the steps. The paint was practically dry anyways and I did not realize he had just painted them til he yelled barbarically, "LEE A, DID YOU GO UPSTAIRS?"

After this he continued to say how stupid I am, how retarded I must be not to have known that he had painted them. I had just come home from a friend's house, during this time he had painted the stairs. Therefore, I had no clue what so ever that he had painted the stairs. No matter, because I'm retarded. I'm so retarded in fact, that I go to college and make good grades. He never went to...