Thursday, September 22, 2011

Nurse the Hate: Hate Childhood

When I was a kid, I spent most of my childhood embarrassed by my parents. In retrospect, they were neither cooler nor any less dorky than anyone else’s parents though. Peer pressure is a monster when you are a child though, and my childhood ideal was always a strange mish-mosh of the Brady Family and Eight Is Enough. I was never clear why we didn’t have a pool table in the garage, have Joe Namath drop by the house, or have a housekeeper prepare me a tray of food for when I was upset and stewing in my room. I spent the years of eight to twelve pitching fits, stomping to my room, and waiting expectedly for a tray of delicious food and soothing talk that never came. Where was Alice the Maid when I needed her? That Bobby Brady had it all, that little fucker.

I also went through a period of time where I pretended I had no parents. I think almost every kid got dropped off at the mall at a secret doorway where you could then meet your friends by suddenly appearing. I liked to play it like I was just a single dude that had no back story. A real international man of mystery. It was as if I was a 13 year old that had my own apartment, and just happened to be attending Garwood Middle School as a brief sojourn on my way to getting involved in an Import/Export business based in Buenos Aires. “Hey guys! It’s just drove over from my condo on the wharf. I was knee deep in shit like coloring in my map for Geography Class and just thought I’d swing by. Who’s up for a brandy?”

Looking back, my father may have been way ahead of his time when he was mowing the lawn in black work socks, grass stained Stan Smith Adidas, and giveaway t-shirt. You put that outfit on some indie dude in Wicker Park, he’s beating back the pierced skinny jean chicks with a rawhide mallet. My Dad didn’t even know he was ironic. In 1978, it wasn’t considered such a rocking look though. I think he may have been a man slightly ahead of his time. You combine that look with my mother’s innate ability to yell embarrassing things across any retail store (Greg!?! Do you need more acne medicine???), and you had a real Power Couple.

It’s a damn shame I don’t have any kids. I looked at myself this morning as I walked out to get the newspaper. I had on a pair of brownish cargo shorts, an inside out and backwards brownish t-shirt, and sandals. I looked like a hippie Israeli commando in a strange wrestling onesey/unitard. I was talking to one of the bassets from the end of the driveway, while shuffling and farting my way back up the driveway. I really needed a 12 year old son/daughter standing with their friends at a bus stop so I could have yelled “Remember to add bleach to the laundry when you get home so we can get the stains out of your underwear!”. I need to pay it forward. I may adopt.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home