My poor kids

My newborn baby girl yells at me a whole lot. That seems to happen a lot when they are 3 weeks old.

In about 15 years, (I hope it is at least that long) I’ll be wishing she was only yelling at me like she does now instead of how she'll be yelling at me as a teenager. I cringe when I think about the things that will come out of her mouth then:

“You never let me do anything!”

“Get out of my room!”

“I hate you!”

“Can’t you just be a normal Dad?”

Can’t say that I’m not prepared. I’ve got all my typical Dad-isms lined up…

“Because I told you so”

“My house/ My rules”

“I think you need a little sweater over that, don’t you?”

…and the rest of the typical Dad crap.

I can’t wait to be the Dad that absolutely tortures my kids. When they are asking to be dropped off a block away from where they are going so nobody sees them with their Dad, that is when I’ll be pulling up right in front of their friends in my 1980 Chevy station wagon with the wood siding. I don’t actually own this car and I don’t actually intend on driving it anywhere else except when I am dropping off my teenage kids. I think a horn that sounds like the General Lee from Dukes of Hazard may also be apropos. Blasting “Mandy” by Barry Manilow at full volume is a no-brainer when picking them up.

God bless my daughter’s boyfriends. They better be able to laugh or they are in for some serious shit.

I think I want to be the guy on the block that the really young kids call “Old Man Burger down the block”. That would be funny. I’m already yelling at people that drive too fast in front of my house. I’m a step away from yelling at kids to “Stay off my lawn” and calling them “Rascals” or “Varmints”. I talk to my wife about these things. She rolls her eyes and mutters things under her breath. I know better than to ask her what she is muttering about, so you'll have to guess for yourself.

Pity my children. They know not what they are in for.

1:42 p.m. - 2004-06-15