Every blogger has written at least one of them. A post where you’re actually igniting a fuse to a stack of 100 ton TNT. Like this one. And instead of trying to put out the spark, I’m just gonna sit and prepare myself for the aftermath of this explosion. Waiting for the proverbial um… manure to hit the proverbial um… fan.
For there are just some people who are not meant to be parents. And it’s time someone told them. And it excludes the obvious ones like serial killers, paedophiles, rapists and other degenerates of our society.
Having kids is the wake-up call of understanding that you’re never going to be a perfect parent, for Mary Poppins is just a fictional character. Perfect Parents does not exist, so please stop trying to become one. It doesn’t matter how many Oprah episodes you watch or self-help-parenting books you read. Face the facts. You’re going to botch it up one way or the other. It’s like death and taxes. So with that lesson out of the way, I award myself the right to judge others. Because being imperfect doesn’t immediately imply you’re stupid.
This is where I want my kids to look at the imperfections of their dad and then compare it to the torment other people put their kids through. And then have some appreciation.
I might not be a perfect dad but I don’t smoke in a car with my kids present. As I never indulge in this awful habit, like ever, *insert crossed fingers behind back and massive halo circling around head* let me just say that anyone who smoke in a car with kids present are borderline abusers. If you decide to kill yourself, slowly, go ahead, enjoy every moment, but taking your children on the ride with you, is not only selfish and inconsiderate but a whole new level of stupid.
The same goes for people who allow small children to stand upright in the front seat. Do you realise that they’ve installed this amazing piece of nylon belt complete with a buckle, in EVERY motor vehicle known to man. It’s called a seatbelt and you’re suppose to use it, for safety. For if you don’t, most car manufacturers have wasted millions of dollars on crash test dummies. Yes, I know, they don’t want to, and yes, I know, they can put up a hissy fit that equals the worst kind of torture known to man. But know this, the agony of managing their refusal is nothing compared to the agony of managing life without them. So buckle up!
Then we have the poor kids who manage to “accidentally” become parents themselves. (And isn’t it ironic how it’s always an accident?) Being a father of two I know one thing for sure: Getting a woman pregnant is no frigging accident. It may even be considered, depending on the fertility of the spouse, hard work. So without divulging too much, and really embarrass my own children, I have one question: How does one get “accidentally” pregnant? The last time I checked one needs to be, at least, semi-naked with certain crucial bits, exposed and ready. So then, do you have to trip and find yourself stuck and unstuck, in a very precarious position, in order to constitute intercourse as being accidental?
So we have these accidental parents who cannot even use a credit card without their parents consent. They’re raising kids, when they’re still suppose to have a curvue.
(Let me just jump in here, for a brief second, depending on how fast you read.)
In order to reduce the floodgates of wrath spilling out of a million mothers who actually succeeded in raising brilliant children from this exact predicament, one word: RESPECT. This is only my view of stating that it shouldn’t happen in the first place. Everything has consequences, and in this particular case the consequence might be children. And children are not suppose to have children.
The next group of people who shouldn’t have kids are those parents who didn’t get their Noddy badge in third grade, and are now using their kids to relive the glory days of spelling bee’s, recitals and every single sport activity the school has to offer. Please note that the only kid I know with the ability of being first in EVERYTHING comes from Krypton. So if your kid has sleepless nights, constant heartburn and an involuntary twitch, it might be that he’s stressed out! Who cares whether your little darling girl can walk a tightrope with an elephant balanced on her back at age 6. Stop exploiting your children and let them be what they’re suppose to be, i.e children.
The last gripe I have is those parents who allow their kids to have everything and anything they want. Every desire becomes a reality, like having a genie as a parent, complying to every single wish. I don’t care if you can afford it. You not only raise spoiled brats, but you make the other parents, like me, look bad. Stop it! There are certain basic needs that parents need to fulfil, the obvious ones like food, clothes and shelter. But we all know the two they really need are love and attention. And if you think that buying them an imported Barbie or every released PlayStation game is fulfilling that need, then you’re doing it wrong. It’s about spending time. Which is, stating the obvious, damn hard.
So Son and Princess, if you promise to tolerate all the imperfections of the two amazing parents God gave you, we promise to return the favour.