Do you ever get the feeling like you were destined for something more? When you take a long, hard look at your gorgeous wife, three beautiful children, or well-paying, rewarding job as a middle manager at a respected accounting firm, do you sigh and wonder what could have been? Well, I get that exact feeling every single day of my life. It just makes me want to puke all over the blank tank top I’m wearing under this sensible polo.
See, I know I could have made it as an artist. You should hear some of the killer Garageband demos I’ve got buried on my laptop. Honestly, there’s only one reason I’m not the biggest name in post-rapcore- My caring, supportive, asshole parents.
When I was growing up, no matter what I did, my parents were ALWAYS there for me. I know, such assholes, right? I always hear stories about big time artists whose parents were verbally and physically abusive or addicted to hard drugs. All my parents ever did was love me unconditionally and encourage me no matter what I set my mind to. How the hell was I supposed to write dark, twisted lyrics exploring the depths of human misery when my dad was always available to play catch with me?!
They were subtle about it, too. It felt like every time I wrote a new song, I’d come downstairs and show them only for them to listen attentively and provide thoughtful, constructive feedback. Sometimes they’d even break into my room uninvited while I was recording and just ask me how I was doing. When I tried to move out so I could be close to the local arts scene, they helped me pick out an affordable apartment and cosigned the lease. It’s like they wanted me to succeed in life!
Hell, they paid for my entire college tuition, and Mom even helped hook me up with my first job after I graduated college. Thanks to my parents’ gentle lessons on hardwork and having a positive attitude, I was literally never forced into a situation where it was either write a hit song or starve to death.
In fact, almost all of the wonderful, fulfilling things I have in my life are attributable to my butthead parents. Jesus, I only even know the word “attributable” because they got me that English tutor when I was struggling in Language Arts class. Those assholes.
Buy a Hard Times shirt so we can pay our parents back for the surprisingly pricey tuition to Punk Rock Academy:
Article by Jordan Breeding @The_J_Breeding