Who Had a Happy Childhood? Bullies and Bores, That's it. And Scott Cunningham, Maybe

(Retitled after J.J.'s Suggestion)

When I was very little, my father used to sit in his recliner chair reading the Sunday Paper, and I'd start flicking the back of it with my fingers.  And he'd tell me to stop once or twice, until I'd do it again, and he'd lose it and start screaming.  He had a pretty short fuse.  Then again, I was the little shit who'd been flicking his newspaper to get his attention, so I sort of see both sides of it.  I was probably five years old. He wasn't much older, really.  Maybe 26, 27. He seems older in my mind, because he was my father, and fathers are older, and he was really big and all that.

When you have a kid of your own, it becomes impossible not to draw certain parallels.  I mean, who's had a happy childhood?  Bullies and bores, that's it.  And Scott Cunningham, maybe.  It's fucking hard work having a kid.  Every second may be worth it, which is the party line, like loving all your kids the same, but there are plenty of moments that drive you nuts.  Like this morning, in which nothing really happened other than I woke up later than usual to a bed full of needy, living creatures.  Justine didn't sleep well because our bed is too firm in order to accommodate my bodily injuries from the accident, so she slept in the guest room, and shows up with Holden, in full sleep sack body suit, which restricts his movement, rendering him a giant wriggling worm, and Lucky Dog is hopping, licking Holden on the mouth, like he does every day (the boy has plenty of places to lick, but for some reason Lucky likes to lick his own butt and then go straight for my kid's mouth), so I'm pulling the dog off, and then the cats are crying to be fed, especially the fat one, Mr. Peepers, who can go, like, seven minutes between meals, at which he subsequently overeats and pukes on one of my expensive new couches. And I just want to make my fucking coffee.

So, yeah, it made me think if my father.  Guy works all week in a quarry, sun up to sundown, gets to relax on one day, and his kid is flicking his newspaper.

I'd write more but Holden is itching for a play partner on the floor, and I'm going to play blocks....