Parents Are Full Of Carp

I was just searching the InterWebbie Brand Information Network for.. well, hospital I was ego-searching to be honest.. and I stumbled upon this site and thought, order "WOW! Somebody’s set up a whole website with a bunch of funny stuff I’ve done! Cool, viagra I can read a bunch of my old columns.. and watch some videos.. and.. WAIT A MINUTE! This hasn’t been updated in years! HEY, I’m responsible for that site. Oh, carp!" So, yeah.. sorry?

So much has happened since my last column. My cute little baby has grown into a cute little girl. She’s about six or seven months into what we have to assume is the "Terrible Two’s." She’s started getting all defiant.. testing boundaries.. going out at night, drinking and smoking with her friends. Unacceptable! Where does she learn this behavior? Not Daddy!

It’s really not that terrible.. Callia is a joy which further reinforces my Parents Are Full Of Carp And Always Have Been Theory.

Carp: a bottom-feeding freshwater fish which is the main ingredient of most parents.

Carp: a bottom-feeding freshwater fish which is the main ingredient of most parents.

Remember when your parents exaggerated everything they told you and you saw right thru it and thought they were full of it? Then, sometime in your twenties you realize that your parents had the best intentions.. and maybe YOU were the assjack. Having redeemed yourself and finally become an adult, you shake your head at how immature you were.. as you continue to eat all of their food and bring your laundry every time you visit.

Then your friends start having kids and you think, "They’ve lost their damn minds! Why? How nuts is that?! Not me!" But they tell you how great it is and you secretly think, "No, they’re full of it. I’ve seen what their day to day life is like and that sucks." If you take it at face value.. yeah, you’re right.

At some point, though.. the Pop Rocks and Coke mixtures you ingested decades ago finally gestates and you have kids of your own. (yes, that IS how it happens.. babies come from crappy, over-done pop culture references.) Then you realize that yes, wiping some kid’s butt and nose for him is an irritating chore.. but taking care of your own kid is.. well, it’s an irritating chore.. but you don’t mind doing it ’cause you love ’em and it brings you joy to be able to do something to help them out. (Hopefully that’s the case. There are exceptions to the rule, of course, and those parents are now either in jail or on their way to H – E – double – "time-out".)

Being a parent means you are around other parents, like it or not. You soon realize that most of these parents are overly concerned with making sure everybody thinks their kids aren’t the dumbest, ugliest ones ever to live (especially when, clearly, they are). They do this by comparing their spawn to yours and by exaggerating everything their kid does.

Little Billy pounds on the keyboard mindlessly? Computer genius!

Pookie cocks an eyebrow at an odd time? Comic genius!

Katie eats something she found in the yard? What a resourceful young naturalist wilderness survival expert!

"We call him Monkey ’cause he climbs all over everything!" Really? You mean just like every other kid that has ever lived? How unique! "Monkey?!" That’s wild! How’d you think of that?

Santa arrives with beer for Daddy.. Callia cries.. and Mommy can barely contain her venomous rage.

Santa arrives with beer for Daddy.. Callia cries.. and Mommy can barely contain her venomous rage.

"I’m not going to be that way," I remember saying. "I’ll never lie to my kid, either.. I’ll tell her the truth about everything and she’ll appreciate it." Then Christmas comes and Santa arrives with his bag full of lies. Eventually, the Easter Bunny hops into town just to make sure you don’t go six months without confusing a religious event with the contrived commercialism that requires the same card-candy-gift and dinner reservation combo that every other "holiday tradition" consists of. Guess what? Now you’re a parent who’s full of crap, too. (No, next Easter we’re not getting chocolate eggs from a bunny.. it’s going to be Lincoln Logs in the sock drawer delivered by a goldfish, just to honor the memory of Bill Hicks.)

That was a long winded way of saying I think other parents have either exaggerated how "terrible" the Twos are.. or their kids were clearly inferior to mine in every single way, especially genetically, intellectually, cosmetically, socially.. oh, wait.. I’m full of crap, too (or carp.. whatever, same thing). Especially when I say I’m going to sit down and write more often.

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