What is there to say? I'm not very interesting. I'm not a good writer. I don't even dress well. If you insist on knowing something about me just wander through the archives. It's all there.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

On when I was your age stories

It is true that your children are your parent’s revenge on you for all the things you did to make them crazy when you were a child. My kids are frighteningly smart and quick witted. They got this from their mother. They can also be little beasts who can flay the skin off a grown man in minutes with a coordinated barrage of clever, sarcastic jibes. I maintain that they got this from their mother, as well, but my claim is quickly rejected. I do fear that someday their future spouses will really hate me.

The kids learned early on that Dad would forgive minor verbal disrespect if it was done with humor and wit. In other words, if you could make Dad laugh then he wouldn't ground your butt until you were thirty. So, whenever I start to launch into a “when I was your age …” story in response to their complaints about some minor inconvenience. They immediately launch a verbal counter-strike of well-aimed one-liners that batters me into a blasted hulk. I have had to escalate this war of words with them by making my claims of parental superiority so outrageous that they are left speechless while staring at me in disgusted disbelief.

“When I was your age we had to walk FIFTEEN MILES through the snow wearing only animal skins and bunches of grass to get the newspaper from the end of the driveway…”

“You know when I was a kid we not only had to pick up our dirty clothes, but we had to haul them TWENTY MILES through the woods to the raging river. Then we had to pound them on the rocks to get them clean. All the while, watching out for the crocs, wolves, and bears who were just waiting to chew holes in our freshly laundered socks and underwear…”

“When I was your age, we didn’t have cars to take us to soccer practice. We had to cling to the side of a stampeding Wooly Mammoth with our teeth while holding onto our soccer ball with our feet. That was easy for us since the soccer field was only ten miles away instead of the FIFTY MILES through the stinking swamp where we had to travel while holding onto that same raging rabid animal in order to reach our steamy snake infested one room cave schoolhouse each morning long before dawn…”

So far this tactic has created a stalemate. However, I have no doubt that soon they will devise a fiendishly devious stratagem to overcome my temporary advantage. Once more, they will leave me broken and bloodied on the field of comedic battle. Never fear, fellow parents, I shall not falter. I know that, if my children's spouses-to-be can put up with them for long enough, my grandkids will know just what to do.


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