Dibs: In Search of Self

by Virginia M. Axline

“I say, Papa,” Dibs said. “Do you know today is not Independence Day?” “Come, Dibs. I am in a hurry,” “Papa” said. “And it won’t be until July,” Dibs persisted. “But it comes on a Thursday, four months, two weeks away.” “Come, Dibs,” “Papa” said, embarrassed to death by Dibs’ conversation that probably seemed very bizarre to him — if, indeed, he was listening to it. “Independence Day comes on Thursday,” Dibs tried again. “On the Fourth of July is the day.” “Papa” was shoving Dibs out the door. “Can’t you stop that senseless jabber?” he said, between clenched teeth. Dibs sighed. He drooped. He left, silently, with his father. The receptionist looked at me. There were no other people in the waiting room.

Papa is mean to Dibs