I don’t care what kind of shit you do to yourselves, how strange you make yourself look, or what kind of weird stuff you do to your hair: I will absolutely buy the class photos from your senior year of high school.
Why didn’t my parents get copies of my high school picture? Something about me having a very silly-looking orange stripe in the very back/left of my head, where I applied a bunch of peroxide. No pictures, because I did something that deviated from their big Rich Recovery Plan, which was basically the Rich-is-the-Root-of-All-Evil,-But-Has Admitted-It-So-It’s-Cool-Now Plan.
The other day, I was riding the train across from an archetypical Westchester Dad. A clean cut, well-dressed dude. His teenage daughter was with him, and man, was she decked out. Enormicon-style pants, multiple dyes in her hair, some piercings, and, well, she didn’t look good. Even in a goth-chick kind of way, it was kind of off. Did the Dad seem to care? No. They chatted away and did their thing.
Smart poppa, that one. I salute you.
Shit. It doesn’t matter now, anyway… my parents threw away every piece of my childhood memorabilia they had in their house just before they moved to California without telling me. And I’m sure, just like he did with his mother, my father has physically cut me out of all the pictures he has hanging up in his new digs in California.
Fuck them. Fuck them. The older my kids get, the more I’m absolutely disgusted with my own parents. Assholes. Idiots. Losers. Fools. Weaklings. Sick fucks.
So anyway, my point: Kids, you have every right to get crazy. My job is to keep you alive and as happy as possible. I’m going to try and do that.
Love to all. Even you, Mom and Dad.
1 comment:
As a punk my parents were pretty leniant when it came to how i dressed and looked, but they made sure that I knew what was important, morality and the like. Do the same for your kids and they can't go wrong. Other than that who cares how they look, can't judge a book by it's cover and all that.
Awesome site!
Post a Comment