Son of Mine

Son of Mine - student project


So, I finally knocked the old lady up so you can cut it out with the dick-in-wrong-hole comments.

I'd like to think she had as much fun through the whole thing as I did, but then again I thought that still being able to sleep in on a Saturday morning comfortably into our thirties without being woken up before sunrise to crying and screaming was a kick-ass time, so, what the fuck do I know?


It’s not that I didn’t want children. In fact, the idea has been marinating in the moldy corner of my refrigerator of a brain for a while. I had all the prerequisites. We bought the house in a good school district so we wouldn’t get the scowl of some poor neighbors who were up all night because our kid was sick and crying and maybe amount to more than a factory worker since he’d get his own textbook and not have to share. I married a woman that I not only love but unlike the average guy I work with actually like being around. The job is many things: complete bullshit, grueling, soul sucking, but also pretty damn stable to pay for said property so he can sit in a classroom without broken windows. That tips the scales as a plus.
Neither of us have much expertise in the baby department. A bit worrisome. She was an only child and my parents buried my older sister when I was six.


I guess that’s probably it. I got the bizarro-world of children, watching the unspeakable nightmare of having to watch them let one go and repeating the first grade as the boy who missed all of his classes because his sibling was in the hospital and dealing with all the assholes that teased me about it.
They just didn't understand. How could they?

 

Thinking about the future now the part I'm anticipating is watching my son experience and find joy in the simplest things. The first Christmas he can remember, taking him out fishing, shitting my pants in the passengers seat as I pray he didn't inherit my complete lack of depth perception. All in the face of someone that lost that spark a long time ago.


It's supposed to that way until they decide they hate you while in that phase when their hair gets dyed green and the incomprehensible music gets blasted loudly through a freshly slammed door.
Kids are mean on purpose and I can accept that. But what I can’t do is deal with silence once he’s here. He gets to have it the way I did not; as normal of a childhood as the age of social media and Tinder or whatever the ungoldly evolution of those things will be in twenty years. If there’s going to be noise in the mornings, it has to stay that way.
So I don’t wake up because it’s too quiet.