3 May
From a 1952 audio tape between Ted Geisel (aka Dr. Seuss) and his son, James. James, 13-years-old at the time, has come to his father to ask about the “Birds & the Bees.”
JAMES: Dad?
SEUSS: Yes, James?
JAMES: Dad, I’m sorry for interrupting your illustrating, but I wanted to talk to you.
SEUSS: Sure, son. Would you like to hop on Pop and discuss this?
JAMES: Yeah, that’s cute. Dad, I’m 13-years-old now and I’m sensing some changes in my body.
SEUSS: Feeling a little yagger in your zagger? Maybe a little shuh-lagger?
JAMES: Uh, yeah, whatever that’s supposed to mean.
SEUSS: I remember when I was your age, son. I once blurgered a blagger after shaking my little twagger which nearly broke my zagger!
JAMES: Uh, sure. That’s really funny, Dad. Anyway, I’m starting to like girls and…
SEUSS: Son, you’re at that age when you feel a little shuh-lagger in your zagger. It’s okay.
JAMES: It is?
SEUSS: Sure! How can you not feel a little shuh-lagger in your zagger when girls start to grow wonk-wonks?
JAMES: Wonk-wonks?
SEUSS: They’re the pair that makes you stare.
JAMES: Oh! Wonk-wonks. Okay.
SEUSS: What happens is you first notice the wonk-wonks. You start to feel a shuh-lagger in your zagger and you want to get to know the girl more so someday you can stick your zagger in her zorch.
JAMES: Gosh, I hope we’re on the same page here.
SEUSS: Sing with me, boy! Honk honk! I squeezed your wonk-wonk! Would you like to blurger a blagger, shake a little twagger to see the shuh-lagger in my zagger?
JAMES: Sorry, I don’t know that song. I live on the planet earth. But tell me more about the “zorch.”
SEUSS: I really don’t know much about the zorch. Not many men do. But I’ll tell you this. Years ago I was walking back from Fratenpuss, a local town near Loginwuss, when my slippery feet slipperied on the sleet that shuggened on the street! I blurgered a blagger and shook my little twagger and realized that I may have broken my zagger! “Son of a lorch,” I said as I held my torch. Did I mention I was carrying a torch? I was, by gorch! And that’s when I saw my first zorch!
JAMES: What the hell are you talking about?
SEUSS: So I continued to walk home, by way of Zassadome, when I felt a little jalitch in my lower stowitch. I thought I’d scratch it, but then I thought I’d wratch it, with my handy little blowitch. No one was looking, so I started fooking…that annoying little jalitch.
JAMES: I can’t believe you taught me how to read. Anyway, I think I’ll go to the library to look this up.
SEUSS: Just then I was tapped on the shoulder! “Excuse me,” said a cop whose head looked like a boulder, “Did you say you were fooking a jalitch?” “Yes,” I said, and soon I was filled with dread. Fooking a jalitch in my lower stowich was illegal in Zassadome! How I wish I were home!
JAMES: Thanks, Dad. I’m so glad I can come to you to talk about these things. See ya later.
SEUSS: Don’t fret! I’m not done my story yet.
JAMES: Dad, your pants are down around your ankles and you’re dancing on your desk. You’re obviously not taking this seriously. I’m going to the library.
SEUSS: Stay inside! It’s pouring rain outside!
JAMES: I know it is wet and the sun is not sunny. But that shouldn’t allow you to poke fun. It’s not funny.
SEUSS: Oh my God! That was brilliant! Here’s $10, son. Go buy yourself a Playboy! I must write a story with that line!
JAMES: (*Sigh!*) Forget the library…I’ll be at my therapist if you need me…
8 Feb
Transcript from the events of 2/6/05 at the Caruso residence in Bel Air, MD.
MR. CARUSO (DAD): You can cry all you want, Mary Beth…you’re not leaving this table until you finish your dinner!
MARY BETH (age 5): But I’m not hungry anymore!
EVAN (age 4): I ate my dinner, Dad! Can I get a treat?
DAD: You call leaving your broccoli and potatoes on your plate…untouched…“eating your dinner”?
EVAN: But I ate this hunk of junk you’re passing off as meat!
MARY BETH: I hate broccoli! I hate potatoes! And I hate meat! I’m a vegetarian, Dad!
DAD: You’re five-years-old, Mary Beth. You’re too young to be a vegetarian. Now both of you finish your dinner or else you’ll be sent to your rooms for the rest of the night!
EVAN: But I’m stuffed!
MARY BETH: Yeah, I’m full, too.
DAD: That’s a shame. You two would have really liked dessert.
MARY BETH & EVAN: YEAH! WE WANT DESSERT!!!
DAD: How can you eat dessert when you’re both full?
EVAN: Good question, Pops. Now let me ask you one…were you born with that smug look on your face or did someone plant it there?
(Suddenly, we hear sirens and the sound of a door being obliterated.)
DAD: What the hell…?
EVAN: Oh my God!
DAD: Gosh, son. We say “gosh.”
EVAN: Oh my gosh! It’s the police!
POLICEMAN #1: You mean the Dinner Police, kid.
POLICEMAN #2: We’re here to make sure you and your sister eat your dinner before you get any treat.
DAD: Uh, I can handle this, officers.
POLICEMAN #1: Oh really? So how come Mary Jane…
MARY BETH: Mary Beth.
POLICEMAN #1: Whatever. How come your daughter has been staring at her untouched plate for the last half hour?
EVAN: I ate my meat!
POLICEMAN #2: That’s great, son, but you need to eat your broccoli and potatoes as well.
DAD: I already told him that.
POLICEMAN #1: One more word out of you, Pops, and I’m gonna stun ya with this here cattle prod.
POLICEMAN #2: Eat your dinner, Mary Poppins, or else.
MARY BETH: That’s Mary Beth!
POLICEMAN #2: Whatever. You have five minutes.
POLICEMAN #1: And Eric here has three minutes to finish his broccoli and potatoes.
DAD: That’s Evan. (BZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!) Ow! You stunned me!
POLICEMAN #1: You kids amaze me. Do you know how many starving children there are in the world today? Your father fixed up a nice, healthy meal for you two and this is how you repay him?
EVAN: Here’s a quarter, pig. Why don’tcha call someone who gives a rat’s ass? (BZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!) Ow! He stunned me, Dad!
DAD: Actually, that was me pressing the button. Watch yer mouth.
POLICEMAN #2: Just think of the thousands of kids walking hungry in southeast Asia right now because of the tsunami disaster. They’d give their left leg for that food you’re leaving on your plates.
EVAN: Do ya happen to have a mailing address? I’ll overnight them this crap! (BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!) Ow! (BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!) Double ow!!! (BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!) (BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!) All right, already!
DAD: Seriously, Officer, there’s smoke pouring out of my son’s ears. (BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!) Ow!
POLICEMAN #1: Damn, this is a fun job.
EVAN: Look! I’m eating, okay?
MARY BETH: Me, too!
POLICEMAN #2: Good job, Mary Hartman.
MARY BETH: Mary Beth!
POLICEMAN #2: Whatever.
POLICEMAN #1: Don’t make us come back, ya hear? The Dinner Police will always be right around the corner, just waiting to come in here and force some food down yer throats if you don’t finish your supper.
POLICEMAN #2: Our business here is finished. Let’s go, #1.
EVAN: Goodbye! (BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!) Ow!!! What was that for?
POLICEMAN #1: Just in case you were even thinking about not finishing your next supper! Farewell, model citizens!
DAD: Wow, the Dinner Police.
MARY BETH: I’ll never leave food on my plate again, Dad.
DAD: Good to hear. I think we all learned a lesson tonight.
EVAN: I didn’t! I think those bastards fried half of my brain cells!
(The preceding message was brought to you by your local chapter of the Dinner Police. Also contributing were your local chapters of the Bathtub Patrol, the Household Chores Regulators and the Timeout Wardens.)
14 Dec
Excerpt from the 2004 Kosterman Holiday Letter, Madison, WI:
…which is why we were voted “Greatest White Suburban Family In the History of Madison” for the 5th straight year! Doug thought the best way to celebrate was by buying me a toggle bracelet from Tiffany’s. In return I bought him a new set of Big Bertha’s. And Doug doesn’t even play golf. And together we bought Matt and Michelle new BMWs and Mark a Sony KE-42XS910 60” WEGA Plasma HD TV for his bedroom. And for little Melissa (our wonderful surprise from 3 years ago!) we bought Elmo. No, not that silly “Tickle Me Elmo” I’m sure you bought for your average children…we bought her the real Elmo you see on Sesame Street. Well, the Elmo you used to see. He’s actually moving in for good today!
Well, that just about does it for the Kosterman family for 2004! We hope you all have a wonderful holiday season and we hope you all have perfect, superb lives like we do!
Love and Happiness,
The Kosterman Family
Transcript from a secret recording of the Kosterman family…recorded 11/26/04 (the day after Thanksgiving) while Wendy Kosterman was folding and sealing the 2004 holiday letters. Wendy always made sure that the Kosterman Holiday Letter was the FIRST letter her family/friends received each and every blessed year.
(Sound of door slamming.)
WENDY: Honey, is that you?
DOUG: What of it?
WENDY: Is there something wrong, my love of my life?
DOUG: Yeah, there is something wrong…starting with your saccharine sweet phony baloney nonsense talk. Knock it off.
WENDY: Doug, please!? Watch your mouth!? The children may hear.
DOUG: So what?
WENDY: Doug…you seem…what’s the word?
DOUG: Angry?
WENDY: Watch your language!? What’s wrong? Did your 2005 BMW 650i convertible stall?
DOUG: Stop it!? STOP IT!? Will you please stop rattling off every material item we’ve ever purchased? My God!? Can’t we have a normal conversation?
WENDY: Of course, honey. Before we start, can I get you something cool to drink from our brand new Jenn-Air Built-In 48” wide Euro-Style stainless steel refrigerator with Touch Sensor?
DOUG: You just don’t get it, do you?
WENDY: Get what?
DOUG: It cracks me up that you think there is such a thing as being “perfect.” And you define being “perfect” as owning anything and everything expensive.
WENDY: Of course I don’t think that way! We’re perfect because you and I are perfect with a perfect marriage and we have perfect children!
DOUG: How’s this for perfect? Wendy…I’m having an affair. I’ve been having one for two years now.
WENDY: Oh my God! I can’t believe it! I won’t believe it! I need my jewelry to console me. Where’s my diamond bracelet?
(Sound of door slamming.)
DOUG: We can talk about this later. But you can be sure of this, Wendy, I’m leaving you.
WENDY: At least I still have perfect children!
MATT: Mom? Oh, hey Dad, I’m glad you’re both here. I have an announcement to make.
WENDY: What is it, Matt? Oh my beautiful Matt!
MATT: I’m quitting my $75,000/year job and joining the army.
WENDY: What?!
MATT: Yeah. I know you guys are Democrats and everything but my heart is with Bush and the cause. I’ve been losing sleep with the thoughts of Iraqis not being able to live in a free democracy. God forbid. I signed up today and I’m headed to South Carolina and boot camp in four days.
WENDY: I can’t believe this! Your job! Your square jaw! What about Stacey? I thought you two were discussing the “M” word?
MATT: Stacey and I sort of broke up. When I told her I was joining the army she said she’d leave me. I said, “Go ahead” and she punched me. Nearly ruined my profile.
WENDY: What did you do?
MATT: Don’t worry. It’ll take months for the police to find the bitch.
WENDY: Oh my GOD! Doug, don’t you have anything to say?
DOUG: You talking to me? Sorry, I was packing. I can’t say much since I’m having the affair with Stacey’s mom.
MATT: Stacey’s mom has got it going on.
WENDY: I think I’m going to faint.
(Sound of door slamming.)
MICHELLE: Mom!? Dad?
WENDY: Yes, honey?? Welcome home!? How is our Harvard freshman?
MICHELLE: Pregnant.
WENDY: What?!
MICHELLE: Yeah. Thanks, Mom and Dad! You were so busy pushing me to be president of every stupid little group in high school that you never informed me that if a boy sticks his ding-a-ling in my yum-yum that I’d get pregnant! Thanks a lot! I just dropped out of Harvard!
WENDY: Oh my Lord! Who did this to you???
MICHELLE: Could be one of three guys, actually.
WENDY: AAAAAAAAAAH!? Doug, aren’t you going to say anything?
DOUG: None of this is as bad as Mark.
WENDY: What’s up with Mark? He’s a wonderful sophomore at Berber County High where I am the School Board president.
MATT: Mom, where have you been? Mark was arrested last week for holding five teachers and ten students hostage for three days all in the name of Allah.
WENDY: I was still working on our holiday letter last week.
DOUG: Get your head out of the clouds, Martha Stewart, and get with reality.
WENDY: I hope you’re referring to the Martha Stewart before her prison term?
DOUG: You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. (Sound of door slamming.)
MATT: I’ll write from the front. (Sound of door slamming.)
MICHELLE: Can I have my old bedroom back, Mom? And please don’t expect me to get a job. Unless it’s running an I.Q. team, a chess club or first flute in some stupid old orchestra! (Sound of door slamming.)
WENDY: Well now. This has been an eye-opening experience. I really don’t know what my silly husband is talking about! I think I need some fresh air to think this through. I think I’ll change into my brand new Ruched dress from Neiman Marcus and take a quick drive to our lovely vacation home in my 2005 Mercedes Benz S-Class S550 equipped with DVD player and other added features. Then we’ll all sit down and eat a nice dinner with our china in the dining room and discuss our day. Yes. That sounds perfect to me.
(MELISSA, the 3-year-old, waddles into the room holding a Browning 9 millimeter Hi-Power handgun.)
MELISSA: Mama? Guess what? I just shot some bastard at the front door dressed up like Elmo.
13 Jan
From the journal of Harry Dunbar, 32, of Leesburg, VA. Mr. Dunbar is a professional stamp collector.
January 12th
What a day! Woke up this morning to the radio proclaiming we were in for a snowstorm tonight; probably looking at 3-5 inches by morning rush hour. I immediately groaned. Yesterday was so busy with the kids and their activities that neither Amanda nor myself had any time to go food shopping.
I would have to go on this, a Sunday morning, on a day before a snowstorm.
I would have to deal with the SNOW-CRAZED SHOPPERS!
I groaned again. I hated dealing with snow-crazed shoppers. These are the idiots who spend their lives watching the Weather Channel, waiting for that weather report announcing anything more that a coating so they can run out to the grocery store.
And what I never understood is why these people would only buy the following:
It made no sense to me! If you were going to be snowed in, why would you only buy milk, bread and eggs? If I could only buy three things before a storm, I’m buying beer, pretzels and diapers! If I’m snowed in for more than three days, the kids can live with water!
Is there a law that states that once it snows, we (as law abiding citizens) can only eat French toast?
Anyway, Amanda watched the kids while I embarked for the local Acme Supermarket. Of course the parking lot was packed. I groaned for a record third time in one day. After parking a quarter mile from the entrance, I grabbed the second to last cart and wheeled it into the supermarket. I felt like I had walked into the New York Stock Exchange. People were running around the place like they had firecrackers wedged up their sphincters. There must have been 47 people in line at the deli. Two scalpers were selling lower-numbered deli line tickets. Women were wrestling one another for (you guessed it) milk, bread and eggs. I was amazed.
A minute passed and I couldn’t contain myself. I suddenly yelled, “PEOPLE! IT’S ONLY 3-5 INCHES!”
A woman turned to me and immediately said, “Your poor wife.”
This generated a decent amount of laughs. Leesburg is a funny place.
Well, I did my best to get what I needed. Unfortunately, I found myself wrestling with some women as well for some much-needed items. I stood in line for a month, and finally, years later, I made it home to my wife and kids.
As I was pulling my boots off and slamming my fellow citizens, my wife stopped me. “This is all you bought?!” she cried. She pulled the following items from the shopping bag:
“Oh my God,” I muttered. “I thought I was grabbing beer, pretzels and diapers.”
“Why would you buy this crap?” Amanda said. “Who the hell needs milk, bread and eggs when it snows outside? What are ya? A SNOW-CRAZED SHOPPER?!”
I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even remember buying the items! It’s as if something in our subconscious is triggered when we hear a snowstorm report. Its going to snow? Must…buy…MILK…BREAD…EGGS. Ingredients for nachos? A three pound bag of Chex Mix? A big bag of extra chewy Chips Ahoy?
Nope!
I groaned and put my boots back on.
It was back to the Acme for me.
(And to add insult to injury, the wife and kids pelted me with the eggs as I made my way to the car!)
16 Sep
From the diary of Mrs. Ann Werberer, 35, of Salem, OR. Mrs. Werberer is a housewife and a mother of three.
September 15th
Dear Diary,
Such a strange day! I awoke at 6:30 as I usually do, woke Glenn, Glenda and Enda at 6:45, Frank at 7:00 and Pooch at 7:15. The goldfish was already awake. By 8:00, everyone was off to school or work and I was sitting in the kitchen watching Today and stirring my coffee with my left forefinger as I usually painfully do. At 8:04 on the dot, the phone rang. This startled me. Already I knew I was in for an unusual day.
It was my friend, Betty. She wanted to know if Bunko was still on for tonight. What an odd question, I thought to myself. So unlike Betty. We had just discussed the game night schedule the other day in the ShopRite parking lot. I decided to test if it was really my friend on the other line. I said, “Betty, what’s your last name?”
She answered, “Johnson, of course. Ann, what’s wrong?”
This imposter knew Betty’s last name! I quickly asked her when she was born and she answered that correctly, too. I asked who her husband was, and this also generated the proper response. This imposter had done something with my Betty! But, before disposing of the body, she (or he…or it) did a little research (or a mind meld!) and now knew everything about her!
“What did you do with my Betty?!” I cried.
“This is Betty, Ann!” the imposter retorted.
I slammed the phone on the receiver. Whatever had taken Betty away would surely come after me next. I had to hide! I closed all the curtains, grabbed Pooch and ran downstairs into the basement. Pooch was just as scared as I was. With dog in one hand, I crouched beside Frank’s workbench with a socket wrench in the other.
An hour passed by when suddenly the doorbell rang. I nearly screamed from fright. I crept upstairs, Pooch by my side, with the socket wrench still in my hands. I crawled in the kitchen to the dining room and living room and in a minute I was lying beneath the front door. The doorbell rang again.
This fiend, this monster, this demonic force may have taken Betty away but not me! I quickly stood and threw open the door. A psychopath straight from hell stood before me!
“Hey, Ann,” it said. “Looks like the new mailman got our mail mixed up again. Here ya go.” It suddenly reached out at me. So I clubbed it over the head, knocking it unconscious with one swing of the wrench. It dropped like a sack of potatoes. I dragged the body in and hid it behind the sofa.
Just then the phone rang.
I thought my heart was about to burst!? I slowly picked up the phone and placed the receiver to my ear. “Hello?” I asked.
“Mrs. Werberer?” spoke an unfamiliar feminine voice. “This is Nurse Klike at the school.” Your son, Glenn, has vomited twice this morning. We just took his temperature and he is also running a slight fever. We wanted to make sure you were home before we sent him off.” And then Glenn spoke to me.
“Mommy, I feel sick,” he said, but that wasn’t the Glenn I bore and raised! “The monster that had taken away Betty, that had attempted to eliminate me, had now taken my little boy!
“You bastard!” I screamed into the phone. “What did you do with my Glenn?!”
“What?” said the imposter. “I’m Glenn, Mom. I’m coming home. My tummy hurts.”
“You won’t get away with this!” I cried into the phone to this devil, this beast from the fiery cauldron of damnation. “Damn you for taking my son! Damn you!”
“What?”
I hung up. I ran to the living room where I found the monster crawling out from under the sofa! “My head,” it muttered. I picked up the socket wrench and hit it again. It screamed. I hit it over and over and over again until it stopped moving.
We were safe again.
My real son came home soon after, and that night the real Betty showed up for Bunko with my other friends. The monster is still lying motionless under my living room sofa, but I dare not wake it up.
It may come after you.
12 Aug
From the journal of Doug Wankshaw, 32, of Charlotte, NC:
December 5th
Interesting night in front of the television this evening. I’m watching the Tar Heels dismantle Duke on the basketball court (thank God! It rarely happens anymore these days!) and Betty comes downstairs after putting the kids down.
She was in one of her “moods”.
“Why the hell should I have to walk in here and watch you watching stupid basketball?” she cried.
I gripped the TV remote tightly in my hand. “Because there’s nothing else on TV, hon,” I said innocently enough. Betty’s eyebrows formed a capital “V” above her fiery eyes.
“Give me the remote,” she said.
“There’s nothing else on!” I exclaimed. “I just went through all 350 channels! Nothing but crap!” The Tar Heels, by the way, were up 67-54 at this point.
Betty crossed her arms. “Give me the remote or else,” she glared at me. We’ve been happily married for five years.
As I watched Duke sink a three to bring themselves within eight, Betty snatched the remote control out of my hand and plopped herself next to me on the couch. “Sunday is football,” she said and I knew by her tone that I was in for a helluva lecture. “Monday night is football. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday is basketball and Saturday is college football.”
“You forgot Friday,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Poker on ESPN2,” I said. I really didn’t help out my own cause.
“We’re going to watch what I want to watch tonight,” Betty hissed. She started to click through the channels. It was TV Hell. We spent ten minutes on QVC where Joan Rivers was pushing some gaudy jewelry, five minutes on PBS where some Irish guys (one of them had Dumbo ears) were singing some fancy shit that nobody listens to, ten minutes on the Home Shopping Network where some soap opera actress was pushing some facial cream crap, followed by ten minutes on TBS so my wife could drool all over Hugh Jackman in some stupid movie with Meg Ryan who was looking really long in the tooth.
“Man,” I said. “TV really sucks!”
“Shut up!” my wife barked. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and rub my shoulders or something?” Happily married for five years with two kids. Two wonderful children. (Actually, two girls who more and more resemble their mother!)
“Can’t I see the score of the basketball game real quick?” I asked sweetly.
Betty glared at me. “Who’s got the remote?” she asked. She saw the look on my face and decided to give in a bit. “Listen,” she said. “You get the TV six out of the seven days. If you really loved me, you’d sit with me right now, watch what I want to watch and rub my shoulders.”
“What do you want to watch?” I asked. “I’m sick of this channel surfing.”
“Yeah,” my wife muttered sarcastically, “you never channel surf.”
Well, I got my wish. We stuck with one channel. Lifetime. Or, as I now call it: the “Male-Bashing Network.” Betty turned it on and we found ourselves watching a true classic of a movie. This guy rapes a woman. Real family entertainment. Like I want to watch that after a hard day at work! She then spends the next two hours (minus commercials) hunting this bastard down with the help of some of her whiny friends. When they find him, they tie him up on a bed, pour gasoline on him and burn him to death. The woman is arrested, put on trial and is found not guilty by 12 yentas in the jury booth. Now I’m not saying the guy didn’t deserve getting charbroiled, but my wife is sitting there cheering as if she’s watching the Super Bowl! What’s up with that?
In between all this violence, I’m watching Lifetime commercials for some upcoming Lifetime Hallmark Movies:
My wife was hooping and hollering, trying to high five me during all this. I found it appalling. I think Lifetime should be banned from all households where a woman is present. I can understand a network for women, but what the hell is with all this violence towards men? Does the network have any female executive producers who look upon men favorably?
I told Betty I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped rubbing her shoulders and told her I was going upstairs to watch the rest of the basketball game.
That was when Betty asked me if we had any gasoline in the garage!!!
22 Jul
From the journal of Billy Ramos, age 4, of Flint, MI. Billy attends Starlight Starbright Daycare:
July 22nd
Another exhausting day in pre-K. More lessons in Spanish, sign language, computer concepts and biology today. Wendy Clapper screamed when she dissected her frog. I laughed and flicked a booger on her back.
Miss Nicole says I’m doing very well but I need to listen and focus more in class. I pointed out to her that I’m only freakin’ 4-years-old, lady! Thanks to my little outburst I was awarded the school’s first 2-hour long timeout. I’m sure Miss Nicole has already branded me with A.D.D. God forbid you drift off in class when you’re 4-years-old!!!
Dad was furious when he picked me up. Said something like I’m out of control and he’s going to reel me in. I just sat back in my carseat and sighed. Sometimes I wished my father had a zipper across his mouth.
My sister, Brianna, was sitting next to me playing with her doll. Ah, to be a 2-year-old again! No pressures!? Seems like yesterday when I sat in her seat, singing like a drunken sailor while sniffing the brownie mix stewing in my shorts.
“You have no idea,” I said to my sister while Dad ranted and raved in the front seat about responsibility, respect and moral conduct. Shouldn’t I be getting this lecture when I’m a teenager?
“You have no idea what it’s like to be a 4-year-old today,” I said to my sister who had already tuned me out. “Homework every other day,” I sighed. Whoever heard of a 4-year-old getting homework? Shouldn’t I be outside playing with other boys and girls my age on the block?
But there were no other kids to play with on my block. They were all in daycare as well. All the moms and dads work their asses off so that we can all live the “American Dream.” And what is that dream anyway?
So they can have kids they rarely see and work 12 hours a day to pay for the outrageous costs of daycare. Wow, I’m 4 and I’m learning Spanish, I can say “I love you” in sign language, I know what a dead frog’s stomach looks like and I now know how to install and configure a hard drive on a Dell laptop.
Sure would be nice to spend more time with my family.
Maybe that’s what I can write about for my thesis due at the end of the first semester.