On Parenting (Part I)...
I’m taking a break from my usual wacky blog hijinks to bring you this first installment into what will likely become my masterwork…a primer on parenting. As you no doubt have realized by now, I am already some sort of expert on this subject, although I am waiting on some university…hopefully one with the words “Ivy” and “League” associated with it…to give me an honorary doctorate. Actually, let’s be honest, I really just want one of those robes…the ones with stripes on the sleeves that denote “smart”.
I may be overstating my case a smidge. Smidge does mean “miles from the truth” right? The fact of the matter is that once the dust settled and we realized we were not actually just babysitting for someone else…unless “they” are just eating one long dinner…we have no clue what to do next. Well, atleast not beyond the basics of feed, clean and put to sleep. We had a OB/GYN appointment a couple of weeks ago were I told the doctor that he had failed to extract the owners manual from my wife’s innards and asked if it would be possible to go back and retrieve that. My fear is that it got misplaced behind the liver. He didn’t appear to even know what I was talking about. That’s got be some sort of malpractice.
So, in absence of that manual, I suggested to my wife that we move on to Plan B. Plan B involved giving the child to her grandparents…those same people we raised me. I figure they know something about how to raise children. Look how well I turned out………I didn’t say look hard. Just take a glance actually, there’s no need to take out the microscope. I mean, these people are clean, upstanding citizens and firmly reside in the middle-class. They are suburbanites for goodness sake. That's like heaven, right? She’d have a good life so long as she could sleep through my Dad’s chainsaw snoring. I told my wife of these this plan and she asked “What is your Plan C”? Hey, I thought she liked her in-laws. Holiday’s are going to be so awkward from now on…
Plan C is obviously to send her to a convent. Those nuns are no joke. They have rulers, and they smack. They are fully clothed, they don’t smoke or drink, and they can speak Latin. I think some of them are even Latin. She could learn to speak a dead language. How cool is that? Okay, so we are not Catholic, and yeah, there’s that whole Pope and Purgatory thing that us Protestants aren’t theologically enamored with, but I’ll take a few quibbles for some future guarantees of teenage chastity.
I was quickly told that I might want to come up with a Plan D, one which might involve our raising the child. I’m not sure that is possible though. There has to be some sort of law against giving me parental responsibility. I mean, how the heck am I supposed to be a father. I don’t think I’m a bad guy. I do have some responsibility. I change my oil every 3000…well, 5000 miles. On occasion I can color coordinate. I’ve never been in trouble with the law…mostly because they never caught me TPing people’s houses in high school. Still, it's not like I eat my veggies or anything...
You might be saying that it’s too late for me to be thinking of this now. I mean, that train has sailed. It’s only that back in the day when this was all theory, well, I made one heck of a father. You should have seen the things I could do. I knew multiple languages. We lived in a house with an actual yard. My bank account overflowethed. Heck, I even taught Kaleigh how to throw a curve ball…which she went on to do as the first female pitcher in the Major Leagues, striking out some dude in the bottom of the 9th to win the World Series.
Well, reality set in. And the reality is that I don’t have a clue. And I don't even know how to throw a curve ball…
I may be overstating my case a smidge. Smidge does mean “miles from the truth” right? The fact of the matter is that once the dust settled and we realized we were not actually just babysitting for someone else…unless “they” are just eating one long dinner…we have no clue what to do next. Well, atleast not beyond the basics of feed, clean and put to sleep. We had a OB/GYN appointment a couple of weeks ago were I told the doctor that he had failed to extract the owners manual from my wife’s innards and asked if it would be possible to go back and retrieve that. My fear is that it got misplaced behind the liver. He didn’t appear to even know what I was talking about. That’s got be some sort of malpractice.
So, in absence of that manual, I suggested to my wife that we move on to Plan B. Plan B involved giving the child to her grandparents…those same people we raised me. I figure they know something about how to raise children. Look how well I turned out………I didn’t say look hard. Just take a glance actually, there’s no need to take out the microscope. I mean, these people are clean, upstanding citizens and firmly reside in the middle-class. They are suburbanites for goodness sake. That's like heaven, right? She’d have a good life so long as she could sleep through my Dad’s chainsaw snoring. I told my wife of these this plan and she asked “What is your Plan C”? Hey, I thought she liked her in-laws. Holiday’s are going to be so awkward from now on…
Plan C is obviously to send her to a convent. Those nuns are no joke. They have rulers, and they smack. They are fully clothed, they don’t smoke or drink, and they can speak Latin. I think some of them are even Latin. She could learn to speak a dead language. How cool is that? Okay, so we are not Catholic, and yeah, there’s that whole Pope and Purgatory thing that us Protestants aren’t theologically enamored with, but I’ll take a few quibbles for some future guarantees of teenage chastity.
I was quickly told that I might want to come up with a Plan D, one which might involve our raising the child. I’m not sure that is possible though. There has to be some sort of law against giving me parental responsibility. I mean, how the heck am I supposed to be a father. I don’t think I’m a bad guy. I do have some responsibility. I change my oil every 3000…well, 5000 miles. On occasion I can color coordinate. I’ve never been in trouble with the law…mostly because they never caught me TPing people’s houses in high school. Still, it's not like I eat my veggies or anything...
You might be saying that it’s too late for me to be thinking of this now. I mean, that train has sailed. It’s only that back in the day when this was all theory, well, I made one heck of a father. You should have seen the things I could do. I knew multiple languages. We lived in a house with an actual yard. My bank account overflowethed. Heck, I even taught Kaleigh how to throw a curve ball…which she went on to do as the first female pitcher in the Major Leagues, striking out some dude in the bottom of the 9th to win the World Series.
Well, reality set in. And the reality is that I don’t have a clue. And I don't even know how to throw a curve ball…
posted by Beeley at 1:41 PM
2 Comments:
C'mon Beeley, we all know that if the owners manual was retrieved, you wouldn't/couldn't, in good conscience, read a single page...
This is a inside joke thing isn't barner? I see where you are going, I know you are crying "hypocrite" in my general direction.
And you are right, I am a hypocrite...among many, many other things...
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