“They’re my kids, I own ’em.” – Homer Simpson

I created my son. And I will mold him to be exactly the person I want him to be. Except for the fact that I don’t want him to be a person.

Because I’m raising my son to be a bird.

I just read this article on CNN.com, about a the value of education and how it’s up to parents to make sure our children realize that, and that the best way to teach is by example. I agree; it’s a commendable stance to take.

Of course, luckily for LZ Granderson, according to his article, his son is quite possibly the most well-rounded human being ever forged (and he probably has killer dreads to boot!). Thus his opportunities will be limitless, no matter if he were to go the nerd, jock, gay, wiccan or even albino route. Whether this was a result of his father’s well-coordinated efforts, a collection of superior genes, or just God’s divine plan is, as-of-yet, unclear. But I’m not taking any chances on my genes or God’s fickle allegiances.

I’ve posted in the past about how I plan to indoctrinate my son into appreciating the same pop culture that I prefer, and you’d better believe he will be raised on a steady diet of the music, movies and books that I love and that I think are cool, worthwhile, beneficial, etc. And now I’ve decided I also want him to be a bird. The bottom line is, I want my son to have every advantage, and I want him to enjoy the same things I enjoy. In this instance, these two desires are perfectly compatible, because I fucking love worms and flying. And so will he, if it’s the last thing I do.

Programming my son will be difficult. Frankly, any attempt to manipulate the trajectory of a person’s personality and the scope of his or her interests and abilities is tricky, difficult work. But as many parents can attest – parents like Earl Woods and Marv Marinovich and Josef Mengele – it’s not impossible and doesn’t always result in suicidal adults.

Manipulating a child so specifically that he’ll become a bird is extra special hard. But that’s not going to stop me. The more you tell me it’s not possible to make my son sprout wings and fly like an eagle, the harder I’m going to bend his bones and brainwash his…brain to make it happen. It’s my way or the highway, kiddo!

Every morning I wake up and regurgitate my food into his mouth. I make sure he always and only takes tiny little bites. I tie his arms behind his back – no hands allowed! – and train him to walk the way a bird walks, bobbing his head and strutting on bended knees, etc. And the next 20 years of his life will be much the same – he will grow up within a specific framework designed to train him to like the things a bird likes, to act the way birds act and – eventually – develop wings and a beak. And also to recognize “The Wire”‘s place as the best show in the history of television. BACK OFF! HE’S MY SON!

I have a plan, and I am going to stick to it. My son will one day behave like and – by the grace of God and/or some bizarre cocktail of drugs and groundbreaking medical procedures – look, live and FLY like a bird, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Because I’m his father, and God knows I turned out 100% like my dad wanted me to. I’m sure you did too.