I Was Still Shaking Snow Off My Coat When My Dad Looked Up From His Drink & Muttered, “Didn’t Know
I was still shaking snow off my coat when my dad looked up from his drink and muttered, “Didn’t know the parasite was invited.”
A few relatives laughed. I didn’t react. During dinner, I dropped my own bomb and watched their jaws hit the floor.
Sup, Reddit. Ever get called a parasite at a family dinner and decide that’s the perfect moment to hit them with a reality check? Grab some popcorn. This is going to be fun.
Name’s Damon, 33, male.
I was still brushing snow off my shoulders when my dad looked up from his coffee and said it loud enough for half the room to hear, “Look who finally showed up. Our resident parasite.”
The word just sat there. Some smiled. Some looked away. A few cousins actually laughed like he’d just delivered the punchline to a joke they’d been waiting for all night. My uncle Roger chuckled.
I didn’t flinch. I just hung my coat on the rack and walked to the furthest seat from the main table, the one by the drafty window. I figured I’d stay maybe ninety minutes, eat some food, then ghost before midnight.
This happened last winter on New Year’s Eve, when my sister Cassie decided to host the family dinner at her place in Scottsdale. Nice house. Spanish tile, vaulted ceilings, one of those kitchens that looks like it belongs in a magazine. Her husband Paul paid for most of it with his corporate job, but nobody talked about that part.
My family isn’t the type that does feelings or apologies. Growing up, I had to figure out what people were thinking before they said it out loud.
My parents weren’t abusive in the textbook way. No black eyes or missing meals. They just knew how to make you feel worthless without ever raising their voices.
I dropped out of Arizona State when I was twenty-one. That’s the headline they’ve been dining out on for over a decade.
Doesn’t matter that I left because the software I’d built got picked up by a regional bank and suddenly I was managing real contracts. Doesn’t matter that three years later I sold my stake for enough money to never work again if I didn’t want to.
To them, I quit. I couldn’t handle real life. I’m the cautionary tale they trot out whenever someone’s kid is struggling. At least he’s not like Damon.
I rarely showed up to family events anymore. Last time was two Thanksgivings ago, when my mom asked if I was still doing that “computer thing.”
This was six months after I’d closed an eight-figure government contract. I remember staring at her across the table, wondering if she was genuinely clueless or just committed to the bit.
I stayed quiet, but this time felt different.
Cassie called me personally three days before New Year’s. Said she missed me. Said the family wasn’t complete without me. Then she dropped the line that made me hesitate: she said Mom and Dad had been asking about me. That they wanted to reconnect.
Against every functioning brain cell I had, I said, “Maybe.”
Then the days rolled by, and I thought, What’s the worst that could happen? Show up, eat some food, leave before the ball drops.
I pulled up to their place at 8:30, late enough to miss the appetizers. The house had all the lights on, and for maybe five seconds I let myself believe this time would be different.
Then Dad saw me first. “Our resident parasite.”
The dining room was packed, long table covered in gold and silver decorations. Fancy glasses already half empty. Every seat was full except mine in the corner.
I walked past relatives I barely recognized. My mom’s sister Susan shot me a sympathetic look. My older cousin Kevin was talking loudly about his promotion.
Mom barely acknowledged me. Just said, “Oh, good. You made it,” then turned back to her conversation.
I sat down and watched. Kevin was holding court about his corner office. Everyone nodded, raised their glasses, acted impressed.
I picked at the bread basket.
Then, halfway through the main course, someone clinked a glass. My uncle Roger stood up, already tipsy, and announced it was time for the annual “success check-in.”
My stomach dropped.
I’d forgotten about this tradition. It was this thing they’d started years back: everyone goes around and shares their wins from the past year—promotions, achievements, big purchases. Supposed to be motivating. Really, it was just a chance for people to flex and for others to feel inadequate.
The table went around one by one. Kevin talked about his raise. My aunt Brenda mentioned her son getting into law school. Cassie shared that Paul had been head-hunted for a VP position. Everyone clapped and congratulated.
Then it got to me.
Cassie tried to skip over me, but Roger laughed and said, “What about Damon? Still figuring it out?”
I looked up. “Still figuring it out?” I repeated flatly.
A few people chuckled.
That’s when Paul leaned over. “Hey man, where do you work these days?”
I paused. Part of me wanted to give some vague answer, but I was tired of shrinking.
I told him the company name: Sentinel Risk Analytics.
He blinked. Then his face changed. “Wait, what?” he said slowly. “You work at Sentinel?”
“I run it,” I said.
“Pardon me?”
