Nurse the Hate: Hate The Godfather

It was evident 45 minutes before I became the Godfather that I might not have been the best choice. The Whiskey Daredevils had played an outdoor festival the night before the baptism, and I had drunk a heroic quantity of Southern Tier beer. Still, I am a gamer, and I arrived at the household 45 minutes before baptism kickoff with my church clothes safely tucked into the van. I took a shower and realized I had forgotten a dress shirt and shoes. I’m not really sure how I fucked that up, but I knew I wouldn’t be permitted to stand in front of the congregation in a Daredevils cowboy gig shirt and boots. (This would have made for memorable photos later, but the mother is a tad “traditional”.)

I had to borrow a shirt from my buddy (a size too large) and shoes (a size too small). The shoes were not my style, and may have been made by Buster Brown. As I stood up for the ceremony, I had an old feeling wash over me like I was ten and had been dressed poorly by my mother. If you see pictures from that day, you would ask yourself, “Why can’t that man take the time to find a shirt that fits? Does a man his age still wear hand-me-downs from an older brother?”

It was a rough start. I feel I have grown into the role nicely though. The Boy is coming to Thanksgiving this weekend with his family. The Boy is five now, and I haven't been called in to make any big moves. Let's face it, from age 1-5, how much input do you need from a guy like me? But what if I have to really step up? I have to be ready. I need to be prepared. If, God forbid, something were to happen to The Boy’s parents, I have created a five step plan I will immediately enact to insure the lad turns into a well rounded functional member of society.

Step 1: I will immediately take The Boy out of any athletic travel leagues. If he wants to play football, basketball, or baseball, that’s fine. I will begrudgingly allow soccer. We’re not traveling more than twenty (20) minutes away for him to get a game. He’s five and it is already clear he is not going pro at anything where he needs a sports agent. I’m sure he can get a good game up with kids his own age within the surrounding area of my home. Neither of us needs the hassle of driving great distances so he can kinda suck on the field of athletic competiton. Also, if he doesn’t want to play or participate in adult organized activities, more power to him. Adults that run those leagues are always chasing some unfulfilled dream of athletic glory themselves. It’s good to distance oneself from these types of people early on life.

Step 2: I will teach The Boy the concept of the left lane. As I drive America’s highways, I see failure of parenting everywhere. Where were the role models for these people clogging our highways? How did their parents fail them during their driver’s education years? A four lane highway has not been set up for you to drive in whichever lane you feel the vibe coming from. No friend, the left lane is for passing. If you are going 126 mph, but The Boy and I are coming behind you at 127 mph, you better move the fuck over. And if I pass you to the right, and The Boy and I see you are staring straight ahead with your mouth open oblivious to what is going in your mirror, I will teach The Boy road rage. He will learn to weave a tapestry of profanity that will hang in the air like a cumulonimbus cloud on a windless day.

Step 3: I will teach The Boy the basic skill of understanding point spreads. Five year olds can be pretty annoying. But a five year old that can pick winners against the spread? Well, that’s a five year old I can get behind! The Boy’s older brother lost his only dollar to me last year when he took the Browns minus the points at home vs the Panthers. When the Browns didn’t cover, that little punk refused to pay me, feigning not understanding the cover. Listen, I don’t care if you are seven, you gotta pay up. I’m still waiting for that dollar. If his father wasn’t such a close friend, I would have torched that kid’s Big Wheel just to send a message.

Step 4: I will allow and encourage The Boy to listen to the same crappy music his friends are listening to. It is a key communal experience in a young person’s life. There will come a point however when I will quietly walk up to him with copies of Johnny Cash “The Complete Sun Sessions”, Black Flag “Damaged”, Bob Dylan “Highway 61 Revisited”, Rolling Stones “Let It Bleed”, Link Wray “The Original Rumble”, and “Here Are The Ultimate Sonics”. He will be instructed to listen to these, and only these, for 40 days. This musical fast will be the watershed experience he will need for a lifetime of good taste.

Step Five: I will give the kid a "guaranteed blue print" for success. Stay in school despite there being no apparent use for learning “The Canterbury Tales”, the area of a rhombus, how to dissect a frog, or Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. School teaches you the basic skill of being able to sit motionless in a room listening to someone who doesn’t know what the fuck they are talking about, but you maintain apparent interest. This will be invaluable in business and adult life in general. Do what you say you are going to do. People like to know they can depend on someone. The 80/20 rule applies in everything. 80% of the people are completely inept. The other 20% keep the wheels on the rails for the remaining 80%. This applies at Lube Stop as well as The Cleveland Clinic. You have to exercise. Don’t smoke. Eat things that came from the ground, not a box. Be honest in your dealings, and assume others are honest with you. When they aren’t, assume they never will be honest again. Avoid trendy clothes. Those pictures will come back to haunt you. Wear a condom, because she’s probably been around a helluva lot more than she admits to and with some dirtbags too. Don’t skimp on cheese, wine, beer, shoes, or art. Enjoy the trip, because you don’t know how long it will last.

I clearly have this situation under control. Now I just have to nervously wait out the next 13 years so I can get out from under this thing.