My Father, the Robot

Father was wearing an apron and serving salmon to us, taking the fillets off the grill and placing them on a wooden board and bringing the board into the kitchen, setting it down at the center of the dining room table. I was sitting on one side, stepmother was sitting on one side, and my friend Curtis was sitting on another side. There was an open chair on the fourth side of the table. Father was always the last to take his seat – “a servant’s heart, that one!” my stepmom would always say. 

We each had full water glasses, glasses of chilled white wine, and grilled asparagus and quinoa on our plates. My friend Curtis grabbed the spatula from the table and was about to help himself to piece of fish, but Father kindly stopped him and said, “No, no, let me dish it up for you. I insist.” 

Curtis released the spatula, sat back in his chair, and allowed Father to dish him up a generous piece of salmon. “There we go,” Father said. “That one should be well done and a little crispy.”

“Wow,” Curtis said, looking over at me. “Your dad is so nice! Is he always like this?”

“Always,” I replied. “Dad is pretty much the best.”

“I got lucky when I married him,” my stepmom said.

“Oh, come on, you guys,” Father said, trying his best to shake off these compliments coming his way. “You guys are pretty great, too.”

Curtis took a bite of salmon and rolled his eyes, clearly relishing the flavors and textures of the fish. “I don’t think I’ve ever had salmon this good. This is amazing!”

“It’s Dad’s specialty,” I said. 

“Thanks, Mr. E.,” Curtis said to Father. “Has he always been this hospitable and amazing?”

I had to stop and seriously think the question over for a moment. “I can definitively say ‘yes’,” I answered. “I can’t think of a single bad moment with Dad.”

My stepmom nodded enthusiastically in agreement. 

“Wow,” my friend Curtis said with a slight chuckle. “It’s almost like your dad is a robot.”

A chilling silence fell on the room, almost like life itself paused. I looked up from the table. “Haha, yeah,” I said, trying my best to sound casual. “Almost.”

But Curtis wouldn’t let it alone. He pointed at Father. “Haha! You’re sure you don’t have a switch and motherboard back there?”

Instead of laughing at this, Father just looked at him blankly. Big empty eyes. “Motherboard? That doesn’t compute.”

“Come again?”

“He doesn’t understand,” I said quickly. 

“The salmon is predictably delicious,” my stepmother said. 

“I’m glad the food is to your satisfaction,” Father said. 

“Yeah, it’s great,” I followed up. 

“It’s nice of you to have a friend over,” Father said. And then he leaned back in his chair and emitted a strange laugh, sounding like, “Ya ya ya! Ya ya ya ya!” 

My stepmother was holding a forkful of asparagus, looking confused. “I haven’t heard that particular laugh like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that. That sound you just made.”

“You’re sure you’re not a robot, Mr. E.?” my friend Curtis said again, chuckling. “Be honest, now!” 

My stepmother and I were staring down at our plates and my father was continuing to look at my friend with big glassy eyes. “Me, a robot? The odds of that are infinitesimal, I assure you.” And then he leaned back again and emitted that bizarre laugh: “Ya ya ya ya! Ya ya ya ya ya!”

I didn’t know what to feel or how to act. Neither, would it seem, did my stepmother and my friend. We all took more bites of salmon and gave compliments on the excellent flavors and textures. Father just sat in front of his plate, his hands resting on his knees, staring at us and smiling. 

“Just don’t power down on us,” Curtis said, chuckling more pathetically this time. 

“Not until Tuesday.”

“How’s that?” Curtis asked. 

“Tuesdays are reboot days.”

“What?”

“Dessert?” my stepmother asked, starting to collect plates. “We have pie and ice cream.”

“Yeah, I’ll taken some,” Curtis said. 

“Please dear woman, allow me,” my father said, rising from his seat and collecting the plates in her stead. “I shall serve the pie and ice cream, and I shall wash the dishes. Rest easy. Kick up the foot.”

“Huh?” Curtis asked. 

“He means ‘put your feet up and relax’,” my stepmother said. 

Father watched us eat dessert, still smiling. He had also fixed himself some pie and ice cream, but just like his dinner, he didn’t touch it. When we had all finished, he collected the plates and utensils and glassware and brought them over to the sink. 

“Well, I think it’s about time I hit the road,” Curtis said. “Thanks for having me over. Everything was delicious!”

“Thanks for coming over, man,” I said, finding myself secretly relieved that this whole ordeal would soon be over. 

At the front door, Curtis stopped and pointed again at Father. “And hey! Don’t you go short-circuiting on us!”

Father leaned back, and we were all prepared for it this time. “Ya ya ya ya ya! That was a funny one, Jared.”

“Curtis.”

“That was a funny one, Curtis. I will be up and running for an inordinate amount of time. Indubitably.”

“Ok, then.”

Once Curtis had left, Father strutted over to the kitchen area and proceeded to start washing and rinsing all the dishes. 

I turned to my stepmom and sighed. “The third friend so far. Dad still has a few bugs in the social department.”

“It’s ok, he’ll get there eventually,” my stepmom said. “Practice makes perfect.”

We walked into the living room nearby and I turned on the television set. We could hear Father in the kitchen singing “Whistle While You Work” in perfect monotone, every once in a while emitting a “Ya ya ya ya ya!” and “Stupendous!” and “Mission accomplished!” 

All this to say is that by this point, I’m almost certain that my father is a robot.