"You hate me, don't you?"
This is my nephew talking. I think he has a complex. We're not technically related, but we're still family. His true Uncles are a bunch of punks (the bad kind), the rest of his family is fully dysfunctional. His Dad, my best friend... kind of an asshole.
I barely know much of my own family. I'm not really close at all with any of my kin's kin. I prefer it this way. These children are in for a long series of disappointments; they're very likely going to become disillusioned with the way the world of adults operates. I want no part of that discovery process.
In effect, I disavow myself of any connection with their future.
"No. I don't hate you." I assure him. I don't want to tell him what's in store for him. He didn't win the hereditary sweepstakes; he'll probably become addicted to whatever at some point. The real bummer of it all? He's forced to wear a hairstyle that makes him resemble Jim Carey from Dumb And Dumber.
He confides in me that he thinks that there probably is a GOD.
He asks me a lot of mature questions; things that are tough to answer. If I answered honestly I know he'd repeat what I said later and get us both in trouble with his parental units. In his home, there can be no paradox, no conflicting opinion, there is only Mom and Dad's Word (and The Word is Law).
Is it me, or is truth anathema to most family's stability?
Well, I taught the kid everything I possibly could about how to play metal licks on the guitar, the rest is up to him. In a few years, I expect I'll be the one to have to explain to him why he's a basket case. That'll be easy, 'cause I've been there.
This is my nephew talking. I think he has a complex. We're not technically related, but we're still family. His true Uncles are a bunch of punks (the bad kind), the rest of his family is fully dysfunctional. His Dad, my best friend... kind of an asshole.
I barely know much of my own family. I'm not really close at all with any of my kin's kin. I prefer it this way. These children are in for a long series of disappointments; they're very likely going to become disillusioned with the way the world of adults operates. I want no part of that discovery process.
In effect, I disavow myself of any connection with their future.
"No. I don't hate you." I assure him. I don't want to tell him what's in store for him. He didn't win the hereditary sweepstakes; he'll probably become addicted to whatever at some point. The real bummer of it all? He's forced to wear a hairstyle that makes him resemble Jim Carey from Dumb And Dumber.
He confides in me that he thinks that there probably is a GOD.
He asks me a lot of mature questions; things that are tough to answer. If I answered honestly I know he'd repeat what I said later and get us both in trouble with his parental units. In his home, there can be no paradox, no conflicting opinion, there is only Mom and Dad's Word (and The Word is Law).
Is it me, or is truth anathema to most family's stability?
Well, I taught the kid everything I possibly could about how to play metal licks on the guitar, the rest is up to him. In a few years, I expect I'll be the one to have to explain to him why he's a basket case. That'll be easy, 'cause I've been there.