Wednesday, August 25, 2010

What I Learned About Parenting from Parental Mistakes Pt 1


Never force kids to do anything/forbid kids from doing anything.

You have to be creative. Hyperbolize consequences, reaffirm fears, subtlety question their intelligence, and exploit insecurities. For instance, when children reach middle school parents feel obliged to give the sex talk. Whatever you do, don’t ever use the following words in that speech: “don’t have sex.” Cuz in 12 months that screaming baby preventing you from getting a good nights sleep is 100% your fault grandpa.

You see with adults, planting an idea in the mind requires a team of handsome men that penetrate dream levels and are adept at riding snow mobiles. With a child it’s very simple. If you want them to put sunscreen on simply tell them not to. But if you don’t want them to then by god, don’t tell them not to.

Let’s return to our birds and the bees example. We know that forbiddance, whether it comes from father or the holy father, results in babies and aids. Sometimes babies with aids. No good. Remember our alternatives:

Hyperbolize consequences – “Sure. Have sex. But don’t come to me for aids medication…....FOR YOUR BABY!!!”

Reaffirm Fears – “Aids, sweetie. It’s like having mono for 3 years and then you die!...Magic Johnson? They have to put babies in a blender and inject the resulting stem cells into his eye every night…No sweetie. Healthy babies…from India."

Subtlety Question their Intelligence – “Fuck every guy you see…Lindsay Lohan did, and she’s rich!”

Exploit Insecurities – “If you show a guy parts that your bathing suit covers…well…he’ll see that ugly mole on your inner thigh. Just sayin.”

Your daughter might cry. Sure. But would you rather wipe her tears or an infant’s ass crack? Or your credit card at the aids hospital (they exist. trust me.)? That’s what I thought.

So only forbid them from doing something if you actually want them to do something. Of course, conversely…only force them to do something if you really didn’t want them to do it. So things like “clean the bathroom” should just simply never be spoken. Clearly you’re not trying to prevent your child from cleaning the bathroom so what was the point? Now your bathroom looks like a short bus full of mentally handicapped kids went to town in it after a taco special lunch then tried to clean it up with toilet paper, a bar of soap, and some band aids (for the cracks in the wall).

The child psychology is insanely complex. And really that’s a euphemism for ‘folded so many times over with irrationalities that it almost becomes rational.’ Allow me to digress into an anecdote from my own childhood. And it’s not really an anecdote. It’s like 90% of my youth.

You see my mom’s only goal in life was to force intellectually productive things onto me. So I’d do well in school, go to a good college, etc, etc. This was too important to bestow to fate so every second of every day she was ramming her idea of helpful tasks down my throat. The result was a complete deconstruction of the Freudian framework. I never ever...ever fantasized about my mom in Freudian ways. About frolicking with her alone or about anything remotely sexual. I did, however, fantasize about reenacting the wood chipper scene from Fargo...before seeing the movie…like when I was six.

In her mind: Siggi is not a native English speaker. I heard that a lot of the SAT’s deal with vocabulary. I know he’s only 9 but nothing bad can come from starting soon. I will force him to read these vocabulary books four two hours a day, and he will do well on the SAT. Then he will know that I am only trying to do the best things for him. He will see this and love me. I am the best parent who ever walked this earth.

In my mind: Are you fucking serious woman? Triskaidekaphobia. Fear of the number 13. What the fuck is this book? Is there some sort of hotline I can call to prove to her that she’s god damn insane? I’d rather die of aids than do this. If I do this and I get a 100 on our next vocab quiz that has words on it like ‘train’ and ‘spike’ she’s definitely gonna think that it’s all because of her and her intervention. Then it’s over. She’ll force me to do so much stupid shit I’ll go Cobain and shit. I’ll have to fail the next vocab test. Then I can say it’s because my mind was fried from reading this piece of shit book.
Yeah. That’ll show her.
Either way if I want dinner tonight I’ll have to go to the room for two hours and pretend like I’m doing this. But what am I actually gonna do? Can’t watch TV or anything that makes noise. Oh wait. I’ll day dream about a plane hitting our house. I hate the goddamn universe. I hope everyone dies and I can just live in peace and play.

Have intentions and consequences ever been more polarized? She wants me to have a better future. I’m contemplating both suicide and killing EVERYONE. Over the next decade she never figured this out. I was clearly a genius…just lazy. She started punishing me often. Forcing more reading. She started sitting there and watching me read. Results? I would scan the lines with my eyes so that it looked like I was reading and the page flips would come at appropriate times.

Of course, at this point you’re all thinking…wouldn’t it be easier, even more interesting to just read the book?


I’d rather die of aids. The counter productivity was baffling. If I didn’t think she would only take credit for successes and dismiss failures as mine (a valid assumption mind you) I would have done heroine just to stick it to her. Instead I had no outlet for my rage other than to do nothing. At least I wasn’t complying. I’d sit their fuming. Biting my tongue. Screaming into pillows. Every time the cheers of a frolicking child flittered through my windows as I sat there at my desk …I contemplated early Eminem Slim Shady LP type shit. Like animals and microwaves type shit.

She was concerned with my future. But I was the manifestation of rage at present. A nanometer from a crime of passion. But think about your brighter future Siggi. That’s like telling a man his wife slept with his best friend and then trying to counteract that as he reaches for the kitchen knife by reminding him of how strong his 401k is.

And now...I was gonna continue by giving some alternatives to forcing your child to doing something directly, but alas..........I can’t. I’m all sorts of riled up now just thinking about my childhood. A manifestation of rage at present. A nanometer from a crime of passion. So I’ll have to end it here-