And of course, anyone with children can testify to the vexation of the parenting meat-grinder. Those seemingly endless days of incessant battling with no end in sight. Days when patience is exhausted, creative ideas are worthless, and ruination of said offspring seems certain. Days that end with you collapsing in a heap trying to recall the fading memories of quiet evenings spent reading or with some other blissful nonsense.
These days are all too familiar to me in the past few weeks, as my wife and I strive to survive the parenting meat-grinder. The current puzzle being our oldest son and his quest to achieve a life filled with nothing but pleasurable activities. We've spent what seems like hours talking, lecturing, bribing, cajoling, threatening, and trying to encourage him to stop fighting and biting the hand that nurtures him. And at this point, what must have been obvious to him all along, is becoming clear to us: he ain't gonna change any time soon. No matter. Luckily for the boy, he comes by his obstinacy honestly courtesy of dear old dad.
Which is why I keep giving lectures. Real lectures. No quick one-liner crap with me. I sling only the best speeches complete with famous quotations, parables, and... dramatic pauses. And, I'm just foolish enough to continually believe the fruit of my loins is actually listening to my pontificating. Once upon a time, I had a similar delusion until in the middle of my moral monologue, ny then 5-year-old son, eyes locked on mine, slowly raised his fingers and plugged his ears.
A wiser man may have changed tactics at that point. Not me. Listen people, these lectures are GOOD.
Sunday, while delivering another priceless gem, my pride and joy resorted to fondling himself more intensely than I care to describe.
This, my friends, is the meat-grinder.
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