A Single Person’s Open Letter of Apology to Parents

Dear Parents  (Moms, Dads, Mommy-Bloggers, Helicopter parents, Breeding-Couples everywhere);

On behalf of single people everywhere, I apologize.

I’m sorry for only putting in 80% of the effort into  maintaining our friendship.   It should be 100%,  the onus should lie squarely on me.   I should realize you’re Moms and Dads now, and that you are no longer able to take 5 minutes to drop a line to your best friends every few months.

From now on I will do all the driving, visiting,  calling and emailing.   Rest assured, you’re now officially exempt form these duties for the next 16 years.

I’m also sorry for wanting to have a “conversation” with you, for wanting to tell you about MY life as well.

I should be more sensitive to your needs, and realize that it’s basically a monologue you want to deliver, about astounding tales of your wonderful offspring.   And it’s my duty to be mesmerized and enthralled by each and every detail, over what Kirsten had for breakfast and what Adrian did at pre-kindergarten.

I should also realize that any moment,  we can be interrupted mid-sentence by a random toddler screaming “Mommy!  Mommy!  Mommy!“.    I shouldn’t be annoyed at this, because our Precious Children need to express themselves and be listened to, 100% of the time, 24/7.   We must respect that.

I’m sorry that I get bored, after the first few hundred baby photos.   It was easier in the old days, before digital cameras.   But (please bear with me),  I find it hard to pay attention on dozens of snapshots of the same scene.   I mean, there are only so many ways I can look at a baby sitting on a floor sucking Duplo blocks.

I’m sorry that I roll my eyes about breast-feeding, when the kid’s old enough to Trick or Treat for Halloween candy and cut the meat on his plate.    What do I know?  By all means, go ahead and nurse the kid until he’s 15.  When they’re old enough to be weaned,  they’ll tell you.

I’m sorry for being annoyed at a screaming 1-month old infant in a movie theater.   I should be more patient, and understand that it’s more important for the two parents to get out of the house, than it is for the 300 people who paid $10 admission to enjoy the show.   After all (as I learned from Star Trek), sometimes the needs of the few outweigh the needs of the many.

I’m sorry you find your $1200 government child allowance insufficient.    You see, I didn’t  get ANY tax rebate.   But let me know how much you want.   I’ll just dig deeper in my pockets, and pay more tax myself, to cover your needs.

As for you Moms, I’m sorry your careers haven’t progressed as quickly as the rest of ours.  The fact that you take a year off now and then to have kids  should in NO WAY put you at a disadvantage on those who regularly work the full 52 weeks every year.   Just say the word.  I’ll gladly turn down my promotions and pay raises, and ask that it be put aside for the next person who comes back from mat leave.

And last, and most importantly of all, I’m truly, truly sorry for not being one of you.

You see,   I’ve been told again and again, that there is NOTHING more important than raising a child.

And I shamefully haven’t fulfilled this duty….The Most Important Thing in Our Society.

No, I’ve been pursuing my own interests like education, career, travel, hobbies, art, music, friends, family  and volunteering.

Not to mention working full-time and paying my share of taxes , so that Junior can have access to free health care and public schooling, and disadvantaged single parents can get welfare.

But now that I think of it, that’s all been pretty damned SELFISH of me.

I should have realized that anything I accomplish, no matter how important, still comes in a distant second, compared to parents who make babies.

I mean, if you’re not raising kids, then what the Hell did God put you on Earth here for?  What’s the point of it all, then?

(…So I’ve been told).

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to dress sack-cloth and ashes, and repent.

And when I’m done, I promise I’ll try to find the right mate to pair-bond with, so that I can ultimately join the rest of you.

The Office Count-Down

Remember when you were five and you misbehaved?  And your parents would count to three?

“One!….Two!…..THR…”

But of course, they’d never get to three.

Because in those few seconds between “Two!” and “THR..”,  that’s the point at which you’d cave and start acting right again.

Because you’d be too terrified of what would happen if Mom or Dad ever finished the dreaded three-count.

(Probably nothing too serious, actually).

You were almost tempted to find out, though.    But it just wasn’t worth the risk.

And your parents knew you’d never call their bluff.   That’s why they used three-count was used so often.

But it only works up to a certain point.

Because as kids get older, they get smarter, and they start pushing the boundaries and questioning authority.

Idle threats used on a five-year will no longer work on an older child. He won’t feel respected, and he won’t respect his parents.

Good parents realize this, and they’ll adapt by using more sophisticated, age-appropriate methods of discipline.

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Fast-forward, 40 years.

At the Factory, they want everyone to fill in their Weekly Timesheet Forms (WTF’s)  by Monday Noon.    No exceptions.

Because the World will End.   Civilization as We Know It will cease.  If  the bean-counters don’t get their WTF’s by Monday.

And they’re going to enforce this.

If you miss the deadline the first time, your manager will have a chat with you.

If you miss the deadline the second time, then the Director will have a chat with you.

But if you miss the deadline for (gasp!) the THIRD time…(Wait for it…)

…then you will get a one-on-one chat with the SENIOR DIRECTOR-GENERAL GRAND-POO-BAH:  Lester McFester.

And BELIEVE ME (they tell us, trying to get us to tremble in our boots), you do NOT want to he having THAT chat with Mr. McFester!

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Sigh.

It’s like “One….Two…THR”,   all over again.

But I’m not five anymore.

One of these days, I’m  NOT gonna fill in my WTF’s.

Just to see what happens.

What’s Lester gonna do?

HIT ME?

The Blue Crayon

The blue crayon.

That dreaded blue crayon.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Never in the history of mankind, has a drawing implement generated such angst. 

It all started at a dinner/BBQ I was at.   After the meal, we were chatting and having coffee, doing our typical boring adult stuff.

 The two young boys (who shall remain nameless) were relegated into the kitchen, each with big pieces of cardboard and a box of crayons to draw with.

Suddenly, there was a sound.   An awful, horrible  sound.   Not dissimilar to that of a baby chimp being thrown feet-first into a wood-chipper.

SCREEEEEEECH!!!!

SCREEEEEEEECH!!!!

We rushed to the kitchen.

Oh my god…what happened?   Did someone fall down and split their skull open?    Is someone disemboweled, and their life-blood is draining onto the linoleum floor? 

SCREEEEEEEEECH!

No.    The older brother was having a conniption-fit.      The Mother of All Conniption Fits.   You gotta admit, it was actually pretty impressive.

But we couldn’t really tell what the tantrum was about.   The lad was incoherent.   All we could get, from the occasional intelligible word, was that it had something to do with a blue crayon.

And you KNOW the younger brother had something to do with this.

Because during all the stamping of feet, thrashing and screaming, the two-year-old was quietly drawing on his own piece of cardboard.   With a blue crayon.   Smiling innocently to himself.  

….A little TOO innocently, actually.

The little shit.  You KNEW he had done something to push his older brother’s buttons.   He probably took the crayon away from him.    Or something along those lines.   

But we couldn’t prove anything.     And he knew it.

Well, whatever he did, it had the desired effect.  He was now being entertained a 10-Megaton Thermonuclear Shit Fit.   

 Although the rest of us didnt’ think it was so much fun.    The tantrum went on, and on…the older kid would not be stoppd.  The whole house stopped what they were doing, to come watch the firworks. 

(It would have been tempting to  say ”Ooooh ahhhh” at that point…but I think that would have only put fuel on the fire). 

But finally, after a good 15-20 minutes, the tears subsided, and the boy calmed down, to a quasi-excited submissive state.

Then the  Grandma, playing King Solomon, made what seemed to be a wise decision.   She broke the crayon in half, and said:  ”There…now you each have a piece of the blue crayon..now go draw”.

 But like I said, the boy was in a quasi-excited submissive state.    You knew he was at that crucial balance point.     You know that point…when it could go either way.   The kid would either comletely calm down, or he’d lose it again, and go even MORE ballistic.

Both boys started drawing again.    All was well again…for about 10 seconds.

Then the older one started to draw with a bit more vigour than was required. 

Then he started to breathe hard….clenching his teeth, blinking  back the still fresh tears from his face.   He was forcing the crayon on the carboard

 (Uh-oh…Houston, we have a problem…)

And then the crayon broke.

You can guess what happened next.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!

Holy shit!    It’s now DEF-CON Five.     We’ve now gone ballistic.   Multiple warheads inbound.   Draw your blinds, seek shelter, and pray to your God!

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!

At this point,  the Dad had had enough.   He retreated into the bathroom, locked the door, and stayed there, leaving the Mom to deal with her screaming son.

And scream, he did.   Quite enthuasisticallly.

And of course, once Junior noticed that Daddy was gone, this made his tantrum (I didnt’ think was possible at this point)…even WORSE. 

At that point, I decided to make a hasty exit.  

Thanks for dinner.    Nice to see you again.  But I have to leave.

As I exited, I had one last image of the Mom carrying her kid outside to try to quieten him down, while trying avoid his thrashing arms. 

 Huh.   All that, because of ONE BLUE CRAYON.

 

(And to think…..people ask me why I’m single and haven’t settled down and had kids).