“Today, he’s your son,” she said, her arms crossed and eyes wide.
|Zac when he got his new truck|
“Wait. Why am I being punished?” This seemed totally unfair. I’m also not permitted to ever use it on her. I had tried it once before, but all I received was denial. “Nope, he’s not my son. My son wouldn’t act like that. He’d know better.” Apparently, my son is the ignorant one. So I had to ask, “What did my son do this time?”
“Because he’s acting just like you. He’s your son.” I have noticed that when she says he is acting just like me, it’s never meant as a compliment. Obviously, his bad traits came from my genes, such as drinking directly from the milk carton and poor aim in the bathroom. Of course, when he does the dishes or decides to dress nicely without being forced to, he’s suddenly Mommy’s Precious Boy. It’s a total gender bias where the mother gets the good child and the delinquent goes to the father by default, as if nothing good came from the male side of the family.
Eventually, I discovered what had forced my wife to deny any doing in bringing about this particular offspring. “Your son’s car blew up this morning. He needs a ride to work and you will have to take him.”
“Why didn’t your son’s car blow up?”
|I can drive this thing|
“Because my son would have known to change the oil in his car.” Okay, I couldn’t argue with that one. My first car died for the same reason as did several others after that. I wasn’t taught car maintenance and, therefore, I could not teach my children what I had never learned. Still, I can at least pick my dirty clothes up off of the floor. Sometimes. Well, once in awhile. It’s that toilet seat thing I have problems with.
The truth is the kids belong to both of us. I know because I had them tested to make sure aliens hadn’t switched our normal children out at birth for one of their undercover secret alien spies. I’m not sure if I was afraid or actually hoping there was a reason for some of their odd behavior and fashion choices. It might have even explained their selection of music. However, they’re ours, the good parts and the bad, and, to be honest, the good outweighs the bad all the time.
Honestly though, I’m kind of glad they’re my kids. I look around at how some parents have it and realize that I am truly blessed. Do my kids get into trouble? Of course. Do I want to put them into permanent time-out until I hit retirement age? Yes, because anything else is illegal as I am told constantly. However, as I read the morning paper and see what other parents have to deal with, I’m quite happy with what Fate has blessed my life with. It could have been worse. A lot worse. I could have had those kids.
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