I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Everybody likes a good hero, right? Especially kids.
Back in my day, I searched the skies for Superman, pretended I was a Jedi, and even wrote a school paper about how much I admired my dad. When I became a father, I was excited for my son to find his own heroes.
I just didn’t expect them to be the bad guys.
This morning, Mom and Buried left for a ten-day business trip. For the next two weeks, it’s just me and my son.
Things are going to be a little different while she’s gone. For one thing, I’ll finally be able to catch up on “Mr. Robot”.
For another, NO COASTERS!
Having children gives you the opportunity to appreciate anew all the wonderful stuff you take for granted when you become an adult, the classic children’s books and films and cartoons you grew up with are part of that.
Lately I’ve been discovering that sometimes the reverse happens, and your children actually make you hate the things you once loved.
Repetition breeds contempt.
These days, parents have it easy. Stop laughing. I just mean we have it easy when it comes to introducing our kids to our favorite shows and movies.
I don’t have a lot to pass down to my son. There’s my sense of humor, my inexplicable collection of Garfield books (the same seven jokes reprinted over and over for 40 years = PRICELESS), and a complete and utter inability to build or fix things.
But I do have opinions, and many of them center around pop culture: Superman is better than Batman; Die Hard is the best action movie ever made; “The Wire” is required watching; Han shot first; etc., etc.
You better believe I’ll be passing those down.
Today’s Wordless Wednesday (with some words) revolves around my son’s current obsession: superheroes.
He’s constantly pretending to be one and frequently enlists me in exciting battles, during which he’s usually wearing a costume and always jumping on my private parts.
While I may occasionally sport a mask or two during these games, he almost always wears a cape.
He has a lot of capes.