Posts Tagged ‘Childhood’

The Name Game

July 15, 2018

What is the most annoying thing on earth? My vote is for when you pose the innocent question, “What’s your name?” and someone snaps back, “Puddentame. Ask me again I’ll tell you the same.” Dead annoying when it happens on the playground at recess in second grade. A real good reason for an arse kicking when the new temp tries it at a departmental meeting in front of your boss.

Seriously, that slack-jawed son of a bitch better watch his back or I will make his life a living misery.

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If Life Gives You Lemons…

June 26, 2018

Every summer there’s at least one story about some kid somewhere in these United States of America who sets up a lemonade stand and runs afoul of “the man.” You know, some bureaucrat who wants to rain on some poor snowflake’s free trade parade by citing laws and ordinances and zoning and sanitation and crap. Bad, bad Big Brother and its rush to squash the hopes of some moppet with grand plans and a pitcher of sour, lemony goodness in a front yard or at the end of a cul-de-sac. Let wee Susie sell her delicious refreshment, the public cries! Leave little Larry alone and allow him to learn the free enterprise system in a wholesome and innocent way!

Of course it’s all utter shite.

Let’s face it – you want, you need, some suit in city hall to come down hard on these cherubs with citrus schemes and money-raisin’ dreams. Otherwise, it’s salmonella and contamination thanks to those innocent little dirty hands and irresponsible ethics. Think an 8-year-old cares about a sanitation grade? Think a third-grader gives a damn about the proper sugar to water to fruit ratio? Leaving liquid or foodstuff sittin’ out in the hot sun may make your urchin vendor seem cute and precocious but know those refreshments are a bullet in your digestive tract once the botulism and dysentery get to work!

Open your eyes, you gullible proles: Kids who sell lemonade are not adorable! They aren’t sweet roadside peddlers with a song in their hearts and a wish upon their lips! They are death merchants trading in potable risk! Is your life worth that brief moment of Norman Rockwell bliss? No. Hell no!

So the next time you read about some precious tyke whose lemonade stand got shut down by some civil servant, don’t sympathize with the little angel. Instead, cry, “Jail’s too good for the sprog!” and breathe easier knowing that your elected officials are doing the work of the just!

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Tales From My Screwed-Up Childhood #16

May 18, 2018

What’s worse than having your parents force you to go to a birthday party you don’t want to attend? Having someone else’s parents force you to go to a birthday party you don’t want to attend.

In middle school, my best friend’s little brother was having a birthday party. I got a perfunctory invite but didn’t plan on attending due to A) the somewhat annoying nature of the birthday boy, B) the fact that I wasn’t friends with the kid, and C) the realization that I’d rather spork my own eyes out than spend five minutes with the corduroy pillow-humping creep (sadly, a description I did not just make up). Unfortunately, my best friend’s mom, under the mistaken impression that my friendship with her elder son had stifled her youngest’s ability to maintain friends of his own (see C above and you’ll know why that wasn’t true), told me that I could not have my best friend at my upcoming birthday bash unless I attended the party of his younger brother.

Luckily, my best friend got sick the day of the party and his mother consented to allow me to leave the gathering early in order to keep him company. Sigh. Heart of a saint she had. (She kept it in an urn on the mantel.)

Night Heirs

February 23, 2018

I was woken up at about 3:30 this morning by muffled cries coming from my son Jake’s room. I grabbed the cricket bat I keep by the nightstand and rushed in, expecting to find him half out the window in the midst of an alien abduction or something. Instead, he was just sitting there, rocking back and forth on his bed, tears streaming down his face. He picked up his pillow and screamed into it and I sat down and asked him what the problem was. He just looked at me through red eyes and said – in pretty much the same voice that kid in the Sixth Sense used to tell Bruce Willis he saw dead people – Who would win in a fight – a bear with an assault rifle or shark with a hand grenade? I got up, went downstairs, poured him a glass of water, came back up and gave it to him. It’s moments like this that I’d like to comfort myself with the knowledge that he’s adopted or that Moira was unfaithful but I can’t avoid the stone cold fact that he’s mine and my genetic code runs through his DNA like a bacteria-resistant infection. “The bear,” I told him. “I worked it out in storyboard last week. I’ll show you tomorrow. Now, go to sleep. You’ve got ice skating drills in a few hours.” Armed with the solution to his dilemma, he settled in and was fast asleep as soon as he fell back onto the Teen Titans Go! bedsheets. Yep, he’s my boy all right. I can always recognize my particular brand of wacko.

Tales From My Screwed-Up Childhood #8

February 5, 2018

When booking entertainment for your child’s birthday party, do you go clown or magician? Maybe you could get a comic magician or a clown that does a few card tricks, but really it’s a basic choice that even the best of parents have lost sleep over – clown or magician? Clown or magician? Or, hell, you could do what my parents did and pay a homeless guy five bucks to make balloon animals and pull a rabbit out of his hat. Only he didn’t have a hat. And that was no rabbit!

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Party Foul

August 15, 2017

Here’s a fun thing to do. Tell your kid that there’s a surprise birthday party for a cousin or friend of a friend or distant relative – someone the kid doesn’t know. Then take him or her to a Toys ‘R’ Us and look around for a present. Spend a long time looking and get something really cool you know your kid would like. Go home, wrap the present and make your child take a bath and get all dressed up. Then drive the young one over to Chuck E. Cheese or some fun park or bouncy castle party place and go inside. When you ask where the party for the cousin or whoever is, they staff will of course say that there isn’t one. You can then pretend to get really angry like you just wasted a whole day for nothing and then you can smash up the toy present and drag your kid back home and make him do chores. Ha ha ha ha! That would be pretty darn funny, right? No, no, wait. Er, no, not funny, what’s the word? Ah… cruel! Yep, pretty darn cruel. Heh heh. Yeeeeeeeah. Well, whatever floats your boat. I got issues.

A Little Night Hooey

April 29, 2017

When my kids were small they’d sometimes call out for a glass of water in the middle of the night. When they did, I’d always yell back, “I don’t wanna come in there – the monsters under your bed will eat me!” That sure kept ’em quiet.

A Cock And Bull Story

February 3, 2017

When I was really, really young, like around 3 or 4 years old, I wanted to be a rooster. People would say, “What do you want be when you grow up?” And I’d say, “A rooster! Cock-a-doodle-do!” Some might think that this was all some great big Freudian mess, but it really was nothing more than I liked the sign at the old Colonial Grocery Store near our house. The mascot was a stylized rooster and it was all brightly lit up at night atop the store’s façade. No great mystery. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Matt Feldspar from using it as the basis for an embarrassing verbal assault all throughout high school when, thinking it might be an endearing personal tidbit, I mistakenly revealed it during a “get to know me” exercise in Sophomore World Civ. It’s not that I’d led a sheltered life, but I’ll be damned if I knew there were that many slang terms for the male anatomy and that each one could be so effectively woven into an eager bully’s repertoire.

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Young Sparky’s Future Shame

Yo Mama

October 1, 2016

I got a yo yo for my eleventh birthday.

One of the Duncan Yo Yo Masters was at the Kwik Pik down the street the following weekend but I couldn’t go. As a consequence, I could never get the damn thing to work. Walk the dog? Around the world? Rock the baby? Hell no. They might as well have given me a puck on a string. Which is, come to think it, what I asked for in the first place. 

Yeah, okay, I was an odd kid.

And You Smell Like One Too

June 6, 2016

Went to Baskin Robbins once for my birthday. Only it wasn’t really my birthday. And it wasn’t really a Baskin Robbins. It was a cardboard box in the back yard and I think it was an Arbor Day.

I was an only child. Can you tell?