Got a problem? Throw therapy on it.

Ever seen ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’? Know that crazy old grandmother that fixes any problem from a pimple to a broken heart by spraying some Windex on it? That’s my dad. Whenever anyone in my family, namely my sister or myself, has any sort of problem he doesn’t break out the Windex, he breaks out the chequebook. Windex is to that crazy Greek grandmother as therapy is to my father. Here’s a day in the life of living with my father (mind you, this is a good day):

Father “Is something wrong?”
Me “No, I’m just tired.”
Father “…Do you want me to call a therapist?”

Father “Why do you get angry at everyone so easily?”
Sister “Not everyone, just you.”
Father “Maybe you should see a therapist”

Father “I notice you haven’t been spending much time with that boy anymore.”
Me “Oh yeah, about that. We broke up.”
Father “Did he break up with you?”
Me “I guess you could say that.”
Father “… I’ll call a therapist.”

And, my personal favourite:

Father “I have something to tell you. It’s about your turtles.”
Me “Why, what happened?”
Father “Well one of them was very sick, and…”
Me “It died.” [I think the lack of remorse in my voice ticked him off on this one.]
Father “Well, yes. I put it in the freezer.”
Me “Wait… WHAT?”
Father “I thought you might want to say goodbye.”
Me “You put my turtle… in the freezer?!”
Father “…Perhaps you’d like someone to talk to. Would you like me to call the therapist?”