We hate the floor to varying degrees

My dad scares me to death every time he says my name. Historically when my dad is referring to me or wants me to do something he calls me kid or just says “hey.” However, when he wants me and I am not aware of his presence he says my name with such force and urgency that my instinctive reaction is that I am about to be struck by something, a ball to the face, a fist, a car, etc. How he manages to sneak up on me every time is actually quite impressive. Much like my sister, but to a lesser degree, my dad walks with heavy feet. They walk like they hate the floor. He is by no means a large man but he definitely not tiny. He coughs, and curses a lot even when he does not think anyone can hear him.

I was just sitting quietly in my room reading the new issue of Bust. My dad managed to walk up the stairs without me hearing. In what seemed, to him, like a simple and casual statement intended to keep me informed of his plans he injected more fear than what is customary for an afternoon reading session. From outside my door frame and just out of sight, “ERIC, I am going to ……,” I did not hear the last part; I was still reeling from being hit it the face by a car.