Becoming a parent means sacrificing so much — your time, your money, your attention — to help ensure that your children can grow up to become the people you’ve pre-emptively decided they’re supposed to be. Yet despite all my best efforts over the last 35 years, my seven adult children all live happy and productive lives, free of any internalized pressure to conform to my expectations. And they have the nerve to speak up and tell me clearly and calmly when my behavior causes problems, even the stuff that isn’t even technically illegal.
How could I have gone so wrong?
With just one or even two kids, I knew the risk was far too great of ending up with kids who become free-thinking individuals. And that was still a risk with having seven. Still, surely I’d be able to get at least three of them – ideally the ones in the middle – to form unhealthy attachments. But nope, they just all found their own ways to go through life without considering whether or not I see them as unworthy of my legacy. It’s truly heartbreaking.
I tried my best to encourage them. Like how I would be sure to regularly remind them of why private universities are inherently superior, along with a list of 25 schools acceptable to apply for. A perfect recipe for seven Ivy Leaguers, right? Alas, Richard, Preston, Dawn, and Alyssa went to the same state school. Meanwhile, Sabrina and Elijah went to community college and stooped as low as to try and invite me to their graduation ceremonies. The nerve!
The only one I can try and show favoritism towards is Hunter, since he’s a lawyer who went to Dartmouth, which is obviously the worst of the Ivy Leagues. But whenever I try to use that as a wedge, he quietly shuts me down and asks Elijah about the stupid video game soundtrack he’s composing. Yes, I may have repeatedly said at least one of them needs to find a career in music. But this isn’t what I meant!
Now, I wouldn’t take back my decision to have children – the tax benefits were just way too good while they lasted. But if I could do it all over again, I would try so much harder to imprint my psychological baggage on them.
At minimum, they could have given me better grandchildren than the four duds they’ve produced so far.
This article is satirical. The Hard Times is a punk/hardcore satire site. All content should be considered parody and entertainment purposes only.
