My father earned that nickname. He had no tolerance for following directions or fixing things around the house. Inevitably, his temper would get the better of him, and a string of obscenities would follow. He was the original short fuse.
My father earned his nickname, Swearing Sid.
Growing up with a man who had no patience for anything that required him to leave his comfort zone was not easy. I don’t remember who he turned to for common household fixes. Perhaps my parents had a handyman. But I do remember the screaming, shouting, and stream of language I was forbidden to use flowing from his mouth. He was often frustrated and enraged by simple tasks that were never his fault.
The example that I remember most clearly was having to put a play kitchen together for our daughter’s second birthday. It was my parents’ gift to her and we wanted to assemble it while she slept. Her birthday always fell near Thanksgiving, so my youngest brother was also there. Once we took the pieces for the kitchen out of the box and saw the multiple sheets of directions, I knew we were in trouble. After a short time, Dad launched into his usual stream of obscenities, declared it was an impossible task, and stormed out of the room to go to bed.
That left my husband and brother to, literally, pick up the pieces. They had to re-sort everything, including screws that had been tossed all over the room. Slowly and patiently, they assembled the play kitchen. It really wasn’t that hard if you followed the step-by-step directions. The next morning, our daughter was delighted by this wonderful gift, and Swearing Sid took full credit for the assembly.
Boomer. Educator. Advocate. Eclectic topics: grandkids, special needs, values, aging, loss, & whatever. Author: Terribly Strange and Wonderfully Real.