I believe, as a parent, seeing your child sick or injured is hard on us but we must endure. You cannot prepare for it. When it happens you simply deal with it. This is life.
The last thing any of us Mom or Dads want is to witness our little ones in any sort of pain. Although at times, I would like to take my twin boys milky white smooth ass cheeks and run them through a rusty cheese grater.
As parents and guardians we put everything in our lives second to our children. If you don’t, in my opinion, you are a dead beat in my eyes. Period. You made the conscious decision to lay your wife, girlfriend or favorite farm animal down on a bed or haystack and took a responsibility in knowing that there was a chance you could become a parent or create a half man, half horse. Also known as a Centaur.
I have always heard growing up the adults before me speak of these words. “One day you will become a parent and you will understand.” They were right and unless you have been blessed to experience parenthood, you will never understand. For those who haven’t, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not for everyone. These little shits can drive you to drink massive amounts of alcohol, drain your entire life savings as your insurance policies unexpectedly lapsed and now this child needs to be fed some special milk from a rare Spider Monkey who resides in Switzerland because this colicky bastard can’t hold down whole milk from some cow in Minnesota. These things also shit 17 times per day as you must purchase every Nickelodeon channel to support this kids Dora The Explorer television habit. Don’t get me started on those damn Backyardigans.
So for the parents reading this, you should get it. For the boys and girls still French kissing behind the local ice cream parlor or playing seven minutes in heaven in the Burger King bathroom, you will understand in time. Maybe.
What was important to me before marriage and children was simple. I needed my hair frosted. My Windows on my Chevy Beretta tinted and the white windshield wipers on my Mazda B-2000 souped up pick-up truck with 257,000k miles were a must. Purchasing the entire Bum Equipment clothing line from Guess was always one of life’s main priorities. Let’s not forget the fake gold hoop earnings that caused my earlobes to become infected with blue cheese.
Obviously by now you figured out I was a Guido growing up in the 80’s into the early 90’s. A decision I regret until this day. Unfortunately I could not afford the legendary black or teal green Mustang 5.0 equipped with the vanillaroma yellow scented tree with a kicker and an Italian horn dangling from the rearview mirror.
Then I met my future wife. Well not so much met. We went to high school together so we knew each other. She really never took notice of me. During that period her tidal wave aqua net Jersey Shore over extended iron curled Chaka Kahn head bangs were to cool to associate with a pimple faced 112LB soaking wet Guido with a fake gold herringbone chain and a pair of knock off black Reeboks from Grand Union.
She would come around after a few treatments of Noxzema and a heavy
dose of Strydex. We dated for 10 years and I popped the question. I will get into our 10 years of dating in another post. There is sooooooooo much to talk about with that but this post is about the children and how they changed my life.
Within a week after marriage my wife was pregnant with twins. At this point I believed she had sex with that Jon guy from plus eight who is now stripping at Denny’s. I just went with it. It was time to grow up. Shit or get off the pot. If I had to deal with Siamese twins so be it. I was ready to be a dad. At least they would be good at math.
Ill never forget when we brought our boys home and reality had finally set in. My children’s hair resembled that of Mickey Rourke in his acting role as the wrestling character so I now knew my boys were not of Chinese decent. My suspicions started to lean towards that greasy haired fellow “Hickey From Kanicky” from Grease.
When you are in the hospital there is the assistance of the nurses and doctors. Your wife is hopped up on morphine and rotten chicken noodle soup. Life is good.
You pack your shit up and grab the kids and the struggle becomes real. You exit the hospital and the first thing I felt like doing was taking a crap on my vehicles dashboard and figure it out from there. The hospital then has the balls to charge you $1.50 for parking. Make no mistake. If you don’t pay this fee you are sleeping in the parking lot with a newborn and a hangry wife who wants to sell your hairy nuts to Hannibal Lectur.
As a man and new father you dream about those days of frosted hair tips and shaking your ass to TKA at the local club. Nope. You are going home with a baby who shits black tar and a wife who wants to murder you for doing this to her. Life is just dandy.
Fast forward 11 years as your son just rolled his ankle in Karate class. You and your wife must soak this boy in the tub as his nuts jiggle like pudding. You can’t help but laugh but try to hold it together as his leg is wrapped in a hefty garbage bag. As much as it made us sad to see him hurt, we still found the humor in it all.
My point is this. Our children overtake us. They become the reason for our existence. They are the force that drives us to every decision that we make. It’s hard to see them hurt or upset but it’s a part of life. They must experience pain to live.
At the end of the day all my boy wanted was a pair of crutches and a moon boot. He thought it was the coolest thing. When he came home he ran up the steps and down the hall like Usain Bolt robbing a Bodega. I held a piece of bacon in front of him and he became the dude from Footloose. All good!