My Kids Are Making-Out In the Back Seat

“Let’s have a kissing war! Grayson, you kiss me and I’ll kiss you back!”

Those were the words which cut through the air and pierced my eardrums as we were driving in the car over the weekend.

I immediately looked over to the wife who was engrossed in her Christmas gifted Kindle.

Clueless as to the words that just filled the air she looked at me and said, “what? What are you looking at? Do I have a boogie hangin?”

Me: “The kids are making out in the backseat!!!”

Wife: “What?!!!”

In movie-like slow motion I see her turn to her left, burning me with a “why does everything have to do with sex with you” look which quickly turns to a “holy shit my daughter and son are about to make out” look.

Watching through the review mirror I see the same horror as her. The daughter is leaning into the brother with a smooch on her lips as the boy finds the nearest solid object to hold in-front of his face.

Being a born and raised North Carolina native, all I could imagine was trotting off with the wife 15 years from now to see our children and driving up to wobbly trailer with my son in nothing but overalls, holding a Budweiser and missing three-quarters of his teeth.

I pictured getting out of the car to hear the boy yell to his pregnant sister/wife, “go on now and feed baby number 5 fore I’s- a tell mamma and papa you’s-a-been smokin’ and drankin’ durin’ pregnancy agin.”

Wife: “Macy!!! No! We don’t do that!!”

Macy: “But I see you and daddy do it!”

The wife and I immediately looked at each other with a “when the hell has she ever seen us kiss? We haven’t done that nonsense since…well since New Year’s 1994” look.

Wife: “Baby, mommy and daddy aren’t brother and sister. We are adults and married. We are happy that you want to kiss Grayson, but you should only do it as a peck on his cheek. Not on the lips.”

Me: “Macy, boys are disgusting. School work and never going out with boys until your 26 years old is really the way to safely go about living your life.

“Now, your brother was brought into this world simply to provide protection against the gross boys who might try to hold your hand, caress your hair, or baby-jesus forbid…kiss you. You should not kiss Grayson, yet merely thank him when he beats-down a young lad who’s entered your ‘personal zone.’”

Grayson: “Mommy, is that true? Is that really why I’m on Earth?”

Wife: “No dear, your father’s an idiot and a freak-of-nature. You are with our family because we love you and wanted a beautiful young boy to share our lives with.”

Macy: “Mommy?! Can I really not kiss boys until I’m 26 years old?”

Wife: “Yes dear. Sorry, but those are the rules.”

When the kids weren’t looking the wife and I gave a quick fist-bump to each other. Now THAT’s good parenting!



I've Got 99 Problems & My Zipper Is 1

My son has what we call in the business, a problem “shutting the ole submarine hatch.”

Eight out of 10 times the boy goes to pee, he will undoubtedly come strutting out with his zipper wide open to the world. If he were John Holmes, he would have felt the breeze and nipped that little zipper problem in the bud a long time ago. But he’s only seven, and he’s packin’ heat the only way a seven-year-old can, and has no idea his junk has only one more layer of clothing to surpass before getting a front row seat to the world outside.

So I let him know…:

• “Hey Grayson, the cucumber has left the salad my friend.”

• “Grayson! You’ve got a security breach at Los Pantaloons.”

• “Whoa there slugger, Paul and Mary aren’t here so put Peter away!”

• “Hey man…you’ve got a hole in your jeans!”

The list is long, but they all leave the boy screaming, “awe come on!!” and buckling over to quickly zip his cage up while looking around to gage the level of embarrassment he should feel.

And the messed up thing—I swear the shit is becoming contagious. I kid you not, a few weeks ago I went to spend the day with the executive director of a potential job I may get, and that’s when the zipper-down-bug struck.

I’d been there at least two hours. I’d leaned back in my chair, arms on my head all confident during conversation. I’d crossed and uncrossed my legs many times. I stood at one point to talk on the phone for a couple minutes, pacing back and forth. It wasn’t until well into the meeting, when I was doing another kicked-back movement that I happened to look down and notice my zipper had its “O-face” on.

Yeah, it wasn’t just a half-way unzip, or an unzip with a small little pooch of a hole showing…no…it was as if I’d stuck a pencil in there to prop it open as wide as it could go, hung bedazzled banners around it and shone spotlights from all angles.

I dropped the Cool Hand Luke look like a bad habit and went into, doubled-over-I-look-like-I-may-shit-myself-if-I-don’t-find-a-bathroom-NOW look—which, in retrospect, is significantly worse than letting my potential boss know that I was sporting green skibbies that day.

Continuing to act interested and engaged, I nodded, took notes and dropped mad ideas. And, when the time was right, I said, “I’m gonna take a quick break and be right back.”

This nightmare has happened two more times to me, the most recent was a couples days ago at the Museum of Science and Industry when I discovered a docent checking out my “junk.” Out of habit I lightly brushed myself to get a quick blind-man’s read on why the stares, when I felt the dreaded openness.

The boy and I will survive. We’ll make it through this tortured time in our lives. Although, it does leave many questions unanswered.

• Why the hell is this dreaded disease so contagious?

• Will the boy eventually wear his button-fly’s open?

• Will that problem then head north and leave him with the horrific disease of Leaving-Your-Shirt-Half-Unbuttoned-So-Everyone-Can-See-The-Wolly-Mammoth-On-Your-Chest.

• If so, will he be destined to wear gold chains and rings, too?

• Will my son become a hack bowler, drink only Budweiser (a sincere plug to this wonderful company who should definitely be advertising on my blog), and comb his hair straight back?

• At what age do people stop telling your zipper is down?

• And, why, when it’s so much fun to say, “Hey, cowboy, wanna put the gun away?”