My Kid's Gotta Big Schtick

My kid throws himself on the ground on purpose and it makes me wanna kick kittens.

Phew.... There, I said it. But damn it I don’t feel better. Not at all.

Everywhere we go the boy HAS to take his entire body and just throw it to the ground. Walking down Chicago streets – BAM. Grocery shopping – BAM. Walking out of his school – BAM. Watching Emeril Lagasse on TV – BAM.

It’s as annoying as listening to Miss Teen South Carolina 2007, Lauren Caitlin try to order cheese fries at a drive through with her window up.

 For a while I thought it was a tick. I thought he might have inherited my Tourettes. I’ve also wondered if maybe this was the beginning of some kind of insane fetish that would blossom into having to hide anything covered in leather or that has zippers.

Then, I picked him up from school yesterday. And being the deadbeat, outta work dad that I am, I was late. As I walked up to the school yard he was standing with three other kids talking and then he threw himself to the ground. Then just as I was about to throw a park bench through a school bus, I noticed all the kids were dying laughing. Ten seconds later he was on the ground again—more laughter.

How the hell did I miss this? This was his shtick. This little budding hack comedian has developed his first shtick and has been trying it out in downtown Chicago, grocery shoppers, school mates, and Emeril Lagasse. BAM!

I walked up, told the little dude to gather his things, ogled a few of the moms, made note that the boy had just ripped a hole in his band new jacket from his physical comedy routine,  and headed home. I was so conflicted.

I spent my entire life doing stupid shit to try and get people to like me. I wore only a red thong in the middle of a dorm party. I shaved a line down the middle of my chest at a wedding reception. I put two pairs of tube socks down my pants as a teenager and went into convenient stores to buy beer. I stole random bras from dryers in college and wore them in public. I was an I-D-I-O-T. Actually…the wifey would argue that I still am.

But regardless, the boy was just reacting to the really distorted genes I’d infected his body with. He was trying to be the class clown. He was trying to make sure everyone liked him. The beginning stages of the dreaded two words, “people pleaser.”

Go ahead….Google it…you’ll find a picture of me standing in a room filled with people with a big stupid grin on my face agreeing with everyone and making sure nothing controversial comes out of my mouth so that at the end of the day everyone’s thinks, “that big-eared gap-toothed idiot-boy we met today was really just a swell guy!”

So now I begin the process of trying to establish a balance for the little guy. A balance between allowing him to continue being unique, original, and true to his personality vs. showing up to school in his father’s red thong and nothing else while agreeing with what everyone says and does because he’s afraid of having even one single person not like him.

Just another item in the growing list of challenges that is parenthood. BAM!

A Day With Pink Ducky Part Deux

A month ago, almost to the day, I pulled a good little plastic dude from the depths of depression and showed him one hell of a good day. Yep, Pink Ducky.

He was stuck in a real bad routine of sitting in a rotting, moldy bath-tub bag, alone, cold, depressed. So I showed him a good time!

Well, after posting pictures from his day on Twitter and this blog, Pink Ducky became a star. He got an endorsement deal from Jared Galleria of Expensive-Ass Jewelry and got paid!

I kinda lost track of the little guy cause he was so damn busy. Then, on Saturday I woke-up to the smell of waffles wafting through the air. Everyone in the house was asleep, so the first thing that came to mind was, “Oh shit, someone broke in my house to make waffles!” Thinking of family first, I grabbed a bat and walked downstairs holding the wifey in front of me for protection. And much to my glee I found Pink Ducky!!!

“You’ve been in a slump,

And feeling like a chump,

So I’m crankin’ out some waffles and here to say,

Today is gonna be YOU’RE day!!”

“Why the hell are you talking in rhyme’s Pink Ducky,” I asked?

“It’s kind of a long story,

But if you really wanna know the whole thing will be on Maury.”

“You were interviewed on the Maury Povich Show? Damn Pink Ducky, you’re a rock star!”

Anyway, the conversation continued…. But the bottom line was, the little bastard wanted to lift my spirits and enjoy a day together. So…we caught the first train to the city.

Then, he brought me to the Sears Tower.

Once we got up top he said, “Everything you see here can be yours if you try,

Damn..this is getting scary…we’re up pretty freakin’ high.”

After telling Pink Ducky the rhyming stuff was getting pretty damn old, we headed out for some grub at Ada’s Restaurant.

Then, we went to the Marshall Fields building (Macy’s) and wrote letters to Santa.

Not five damn minutes after Pink Ducky wrote his letter, Santa freakin’ delivered. That’s the luckiest Pink Ducky I’ve ever seen in my life.

Then, after dodging falling ice, having to deal with Pink Ducky having an “accident” cause the bathroom was broken, and buying him a pair of Crocs – the #2 ranked article of clothing on the list of things I can’t stand….#1 of course being the Snuggie – he decided he knew what my problem was.

“You know what’s wrong with you baby?

You’ve got to learn how to get down and sexified with your lady”

So we pounded a shitty PBR and headed home.

Then he whipped-out the guitar and showed me the art of serenading.

Took me on a tour of my wifey’s naughty drawer.

And showed me how a glass of red wine always helps get thing started.

But none of it helped. Pink Ducky failed. I tried to break it easy to him that I was still pretty depressed but he kept getting calls on his cell phone and said he had to run off to “a thing.”

In the end – it was kinda cool hanging out with the little fella again. And I do miss him. And I can’t freakin’ wait for the Maury show so I can find out why the hell he talks in rhymes.

At Least I Still Have a Job, Right?!

Well….at least I still have a job, right?! That’s what I keep telling myself.

Yesterday I was told by my employer that I had a choice. I could take a significant salary decrease—my salary will be cut in half—or, I could resign effective December 1, and continue to receive my regular pay check through the end of February.

At least I still have a job right?

I haven’t felt emotion like that in years. My boss sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher as he talked to me and my head was spinning as I thought about our mortgage, car payment, bills, food, my impending drug habit, and of course, my kids.

I moved my family from Virginia to Chicago for this job—one of the biggest decisions of my life. I lived in an empty house by myself on an air mattress for 6 months while my wife and kids stayed in Virginia trying to sell our house. I saw them once a month during that time, if I was lucky. I’ve busted my ass, taken the organization to a new level on many fronts……and now….

But, at least I still have a job, right?

People all over the world are being handed pink slips today, tomorrow….. People who’ve probably worked twice as hard and long as me are now sitting at home fretting over how to pull the pieces together. And my heart breaks for them.

Yesterday as I sat there I was shaking. I wanted to cry. I wanted to beat the ever loving shit out of something. I wanted my mommy. I wanted to go back in time. I wanted to give my boss shaken-baby syndrome. I wanted to never feel this helpless again.

I stood up, tucked my tail between my legs, packed my shit up, walked out of the building, grabbed a beer and shot of Jager and started my journey home. The longest walk of shame in my life. There’s nothing less manly than coming home to your family, wearing the “bread-winner” hat, and having to explain that our lives will significantly alter and that we have a major decision to make.

I’m beginning to see potential paths appearing in front of me. Some are riddled with obstacles and have risk written all over them. Others are straight, smooth roads and make the most sense. The difficult part will be thumping myself hard enough in the nuts to buck-up, pick a path and start walking down it. The other difficult part will be not letting this beat me mentally….not taking it personally….not letting it affect the way I view myself as a person, worker, father, husband. And I won’t….

So I’ll rally, figure this shit out and hope for the best. At least I still have a job, right?