Sizzlers

I don’t wish to capitalize on someones troubles but this article reported yesterday and in todays Australian about a knifing at a Sizzlers Restaurant brought on a repressed memory syndrome attack from my days as a younger father. I arrive home from work one day on my birthday to be told the family had decided to take me out to dinner at Sizzlers to celebrate the event. You know the scene. Father gets taken out to dinner and pays for it. The determined face of my wife and five smaller conspiring faces full of eagerness to commit gluttony swayed me from protesting even though I suspected the worst. The kids faces showed hints of gluttony – my wife just wanted a well deserved break from cooking. (Last sentence inserted in the interests of domestic serenity) Later, at the local Sizzlers, my stage whispered “you didn’t say anything about a queue” addressed to my wife, (and most of the queue) dampered the Kids eagerness for a second or two but in reality I might as well spoken Urdu for all the impact it had. As in..uh uh, Dads getting grumpy..Gee look at the pictures of all that food..look at the loaded plate that kid has!…what are you going to start with?…Wow….Cool. I hate bloody queues and my early Army years of queuing for dinner with the other 5 or 600 soldiers of the Battalion have left me with a pyschological hatred of lines of people. In fact, a good part of my later life revolved around managing my affairs sans queuing. To me ATMS are a godsend. Dinner progressed with me feeling mortified and embarrassed as my progeny loaded plates and then quickly returned for more. Teenage sons consuming nine helpings of sweets still comes up at family gatherings. Stress city. I’m starting to understand why this man committed the totally irrational and uncivilized act of stabbing a family member. I was almost there once myself.