Jaded

I used to be a nice guy. Helping old ladies across the street, slaying dragons, giving money to those in need, smiling.
No longer.
My brother told me a story the other day.
He had been getting these snarky little notes stuck to his door from some anonymous asshole. Fatuous threats and foul imprecations penned by this gutless wretch would appear as if by magic on his door.
Requesting that he not have fires in his back yard.
Which he never had.
Demanding that he not have fires in his back yard.
Which he still had not had.
Threatening to call the Police if he did not cease to have fires in his back yard.
He went and double checked his backyard just to be sure.
No fire.
So imagine his delight when one night (fire less night) a knock came at his door and there stood the asshole in all his puckerish splendour.
The conversation went something like this.
Brother of Tom: Are you the asshole that's been leaving notes on my door?
Puckered asshole: I might have been
BOT: Well ....
At this point the Wife of the Brother of Tom smoothly stepped in and told BOT to go check the Baby.
Conveniently the baby was crying.
BOT tried to get passed the WOTBOT but she was Gandalf.
And the Baby screamed on.
So, defeated by WOTBOT and screaming baby BOT sulked away. Thanks to the WOTBOTs timely and wifely intervention the asshole lives to squirt another day.
I think they do that on purpose.
Wives.
Stop us from punishing the stupid.
It makes us ornery.
Mad.
Not nice.
I used to be a nice guy.
A girl came up to me while I was waiting for the wife at the grocery store. Our child #1 was very fresh and new. She liked to cry.
The girl told me a story, complete with tears, about her and her Baby. Their car. Sadly out of gas and just wanting to get home.
I gave her all the money I had, and when wife came back from the baby formula excursion, I gave the girl with tears all the money she had as well.
It was the tears.
A month later.
Walking into a store in another parking lot, Me holding the wee infant, Wife and MIL up ahead talking about whatever it is that they talk about.
I am approached by a man.
He tells me a story.
Complete with tears, that sounds strangely familiar.
Car,Gas,Baby,Home.
At his emotional conclusion he gestured to his car.
Inside the car sat.
The girl with tears.
Same story, same girl.
It is very hard to rage when you are holding a wee infant.
But I did my best.
I was screaming at the Wife to come and take the infant from me so I could crush this miserable pandering puckered asshole into the ground.
I had it all planned out.
Hand the wee infant to the wife. Crush the PPA into the ground, use his head to break out the windows of his car and than take all of his valuables.
Stymied.
Wife would not let me play.
The wee infant was left in my arms.
No manner of begging would sway her.
She was adamant.
So, in wee infants first adventure I chased the (by now) very alarmed extremely puckered panicked asshole to his car.
Yelling.
The Girl with tears recognised me when I kicked the car.
I saw it in her tear free eyes.
The wee infant chose this moment to have a blow out.
For those of you that are not parents, a "blow out" is when baby poo is so forcefully expelled by the baby that it shoots out the legs of the diaper and coats the surrounding area, or dad, with baby poo.
Lots of Baby poo.
The evil doers escaped.
I hung my head.
Wives.
They do that stuff on purpose.

I will never drink V8 again

It was the child.

We know this now. At least, I know this now.

The child #2 was to blame.

She was helping.

We were camping and had been raided by evil denizens of the dark, furry masked marauders.

Raccoons.

Every night. they had decimated our food supply and even scattered empty beer cans all over the campsite in their silent semi-drunken debauch.

So #2 took matters into her own hands.

She made a trap.

A coon trap.

None of us saw what she had constructed. From what I have ascertained after long hours of interrogating it was made of a white plastic grocery sack, pieces of chicken, cheese, chicken in a biscuit and two used paper plates. A stick and some string attached with my amazing flame duct tape (SERIOUSLY HOW COOL IS THAT! FLAMED DUCT TAPE!) completed and triggered the mechanism.

We were in the girls tent.

Laying about on cots, making our nighttime noises before sleep.

Mine and wife's tent a few feet away.

Suddenly, a noise outside. A growling thrashing sound.

Some weird squeaking.

Ever alert (right) Mr. Dog jumped up and bolted outside to see what the disturbance was.

#2 Sat upright in her layers of sleepy bags and laughed, like a small deranged tyrant. In the midst of her laugh she said, "It worked! IT ACTUALLY WORKED!"

We sat confused.

The thrashing got louder and the MIL and I ventured from the tent to see what was amiss.

That was when the dog, went from growling to gagging. Really gagging.

Then the little dumb ass furryhead ran back into the tent. And puked. (my favorite part) Right on the MILs sleepy bags.

This is a glimpse of what the MIL saw.

I ran into the tent.

The numbers screaming.

Because now Dog was foaming.

and still retching.

So I collared him.

and dragged him outside.

and he coughed and sneezed and gagged the foam right into my face.

and I joined him in retching.

If you have ever had this experience. I am sorry.

Truly I am.

Smelling a skunk that you pass on the freeway is pleasant.

Compared to this.

bratwurst, covered in sauerkraut, laced with mustard and raw onions, then put into a covered container and baked under a sunlamp for three days.

Doesn't even touch the acrid, chemical, vile, choking effluvium that a skunk sprays.

Dog was Gagging, I was Gagging, the numbers the wife and the MIL were all choking and gasping.

It was awful.

So I dragged Dog over to the communal hose and started to spray him.

The smell got worse.

Other campers started to come out of their tents, and duck back in.

Instant pariahs.

Wife came over carrying all of the cleaning stuff we had.

I dosed the Dog with all of it.

Rinsed him off.

Now he smelled like skunk ass, that had been wiped with a dirty rag.

We argued, what to do?

We discussed myths and legends and facts and killing the dog.........

amazingly, when we agreed on tomato juice as the best alternative.

we were stuck. I mean, Who the hell has tomato juice camping? At o dark o clock?

Insomniac Italians?

The MIL (Mother in law) gets this weird look. I imagine the oracle at Delphi had a similar look when she spoke.

"I don't know what came over me, I just had this feeling, when i was shopping for this trip, I saw it, I hate it, I never drink it, but. I . Bought . A . Whole case............."

At this point I should interject that I had no patience left for the oracular voice.

so i swore, and asked her to please say whatever it was she had bought that she thought might help.

"IBOUGHTAWHOLECASEOFV8TJUICETHESPICYKIND!

Praise to the bargain shopping gods!

So the case was fetched. And dog was covered in three bottles of spicy V8. I even made him drink a bunch, and snort it and for holy hells sake I covered him in it.

It worked.

It actually killed the smell.

Mostly.

Then I smelled me. I smelled wife.

and I gagged all over again.

We got a bottle each.

i washed my whole self with spicy V8.

i almost wish someone would have taken a picture.

I looked just like

this

I will never be able to drink spicy V8 again.

Retold

This story was told to me tonight.

It made me smile.

“Where did you Get those Boots? I really like them”

“Weeeelllllll,

I was on my way from one little southern hothouse to another, the truck was running good and I was feeling great. The South was feeling mighty fine just then. I realized that I needed to stop, drop some water off, and pick up some water for me, and some Gas for the truck .It was a needful  situation and one in which I approved. The convenience store that I pulled in to seemed to be  just the spot, I walked in to pay for my gas and realized two things. One, it was a mite bigger on the inside than the out, 2, it was not just a convenience store, it was a CASINO/convenience store!

I walked right on over to the fun part of the store knowing that may truck was parked just in front. Safe as could be.

 I guess.

I stuck 5 dollars in a spinning wheel poker machine, placed the max bet and spun that little bandits arm.

Straight flush.

The lights started to flashing and the whistles and bells to a ringing. Little lady ran right out of the back room, unplugged the machine and opened a door to reveal its guts. She pulled a little printed ticket out from its innards and I walked up to the payout and then out the door.

750.00 dollars richer than when I had a walked in.

Hopped in my truck and started off down the road.

15 miles later I remembered that I had forgotten water, gas and pissing.

Damn.

So I took the very next exit and pulled into the first place I figured would have a usable toilet.

It was Carlos’s Boot Hacienda, which makes no damn sense in Louisiana but the bathroom seemed fit.

I decided while I was there to treat myself to a new pair of boots, figured a hundred dollars ought to do the trick.

Then I saw these.

I had to have them and they was only ½ of the money the CASINO had just givin me.

Sold.

Then I got emptied out, filled up the truck and me and sashayed right on out of there.

That was, at least my intent.

I remembered that I was heading to my sister’s house to cook some food and light some fireworks with her children for the fourth of July.

So I pulled into the fireworks store and unloaded my over-full wallet on them for half my winnings worth of fireworks.

Watching those kids, light them fireworks, running around with the lit punks trailing embers and smoke with my new boots on the table in front of me.

Best damn fourth of my whole life.

I guess.

Oh hell

In some countries, by the calendar, I am considered an "Adult"
In a few more days or so I think I can safely say that I have lived more of my life than I have left.
Neither of which is a very comforting thought.
I am a Father.
I have two children that I refer too variously as 1 and 2, and "the NUMBERS' and I realize that I should be mindful of this and act appropriately.
Bull pucky says I.
If I feel the need to Juggle fruit in the grocery store, have a skipping or spitting contest or impromptu wrestle or sword-fight in the toy store.
I will.
Adult?
By age only.
Cultural definitions be dammed straight to Sheol.
That being said I had a very uncomfortable deep thought today.
Trust me, it was not on purpose.
#1, who is 13 and in middle school said Something to the Wife today.
"You and Dad may have crappy Jobs and think they are stressful, but you should really try middle school. Its MUCH worse"
My first reaction, on hearing this was to scoff, what does she know about bills and jobs and kids and car payments and children and spouses and all the other innumerable bullshit that is part and parcel of being a "Grown up".
Pshaw said I.
Then I had one of those highly damming spells of realization.
And memory.
I remembered middle school.
Really remembered it.
The fears and Pain and Heartache and Puberty and not being invited to the party and not quite knowing what to do and having a girlfriend and best-friends and fighting and My Grandpa dying and my Uncle Ron dying and Jamin dying and grades and math and wood-shop and ..........
well.
All of it.
I sat still and remembered all of it.
Then I had another realization.
This one was far more painful.
All of those stresses I deal with?
Now, as an Adult.
So do 1 and 2.
As children.
They are not deaf and Dumb, nor are they Blind or obtuse.
They know whats going on.
They hear the fights and see the anger. They feel the sadness and the pain of Adult life by watching the two they love the most go through it all.
They not only have all of their stresses, they have all of ours too.
My typical response?
"I dealt with it, so can they"
Why? I asked myself today. Is this some sort of bizarre hazing ritual that we all consciously and unconsciously practice?
I had to do it, so should they?
Really?
Truly?
Maybe some of it is unavoidable.
People are shit for the most part.
But as a parent of a wee human should not my Job be to see that they have it better and easier than I?
So that they can grow up to be a better and more complete person than I?

I hope so.