“Hey...Dad?” I said timidly, approaching my father. He was sitting at the table, just like every morning, drinking his coffee and flipping through the Saturday morning newspaper. Somehow this didn't feel like a normal morning though. Not after what happened last night.
“Yes, son?” he replied, glancing at me from the corner of his eye, then returning to the paper in front of him. He was a man not easily distracted. Of course, the advantage to that was when you did get his attention, it was undivided.
“Something weird happened last night...while I was asleep.”
He still seemed uninterested. “Well, what happened?”
“Well...I was dreaming about something....and when I woke up...”
His air of nonchalance melted into one of genuine concern. He put down his paper, slowly removed his glasses and turned to face me. “Go ahead, son, you can tell me anything,” he said.
I took a deep breath. Was this something I should be telling my father? Was this something I should be telling anyone at all? A movie played out in my head – me telling Dad, him recoiling in horror, as if I were suddenly something less than human.... I snapped out of it before I let my mind wander too far. I had to tell him.
“....When I woke up....I was floating above my bed shooting meteors out of a sword.”
He looked oddly relieved. “Oh...” he started.
“I don't even own a sword!” I yelled, dumbfounded and maybe a little angry at his seemingly uncaring reaction.
Dad stood up from his chair, knelt down next to me, and whispered in a conspiratorial fashion, “Neither did I.”
“H-huh?” I stammered. “Y-you mean...you...”
“Happens to all of us at some point,” he confided. “Different ways for different people, though. Your mother used to fly into blind rages when we were first dating, punching and kicking everything in sight. Your Uncle Roy used to dive bomb people with spears.” I stood there, mouth agape. “Seems like you're a chip off the ol' block!” he exclaimed, thumping me on the back proudly. “It'll take some time, but you'll be able to control it soon.”
Dad went back to his chair, picked up his coffee and paper, and went on like nothing had happened. Still processing the conversation, I turned to go back upstairs when I remembered something.
“My room is kind of...a crater.”
“No biggie. We'll get you new things, patch up the holes. It'll be fine.”
“....I also think I killed the cat.”
“....Don't tell your sister.”
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