Monday, October 20, 2008

Starting a family is hazardous to your coolness OR Baby humans ruin street cred

Based on some convincing evidence that has recently come into my possession, I’ve decided that the best thing a person can do to become instantly boring and cranky is to have children.

Exhibit A: My dad, who used to be a race car driver. No joke. By day he was a mechanic and by night he would race cars. Of course, that was a long time ago and there are no pictures to prove it, but I believe him. I’m sure that somewhere there are cave paintings of my dad behind the wheel of a wicked race car to corroborate his story.

And since there aren’t any pictures, this is what I estimate my dad looked like in his racing prime:



At one point my dad was also the Albuquerque Police Department’s “Phantom,” which means that night after night they would clock him speeding and chase him but they couldn’t catch him. So they started looking for him. The Albuquerque Police Department was looking for my father. He knows this because eventually they tracked him down and told him so. And then they wrote him a huge ticket.

This is what I estimate my dad looked like when he was running from the cops:



Next is Exhibit B: My mom, Pamela, who used to be a rock and roll animal. She went to all sorts of sweet shows and concerts, hung out with tons of rock stars and had the best record collection this side of anywhere. You could hum her a few bars of any song and she could not only tell you the band, but also the year the record came out, the record label it was on, who produced it and the names and shoe sizes of all the band members.

This is what I estimate my mom looked like back then:



Or maybe like this:



Well, I don’t think she actually plays bass, but you get the idea.

But this is a real picture of my parents now:



This begs the question: What happened to them? Where are the skinny, good looking, exciting young people of yesteryear?

They had kids.

My dad is an accountant now, which is about as far away from “race car driver” on the cool job spectrum as you can get, but I guess you gotta pay the bills. The only mechanical things he works on any more are clogged drains and broken dishwashers and other things his kids break.

My mom hasn’t been to a concert in years, and all the rock stars she used to know have all died of overdoses. She can’t even remember anything about music anymore. I asked her who sang a song that came on the radio the other day and she got so upset. She said, “How should I know? It could be Siegfried and Roy and their striped tigers for all I care. There’s no room for that crap in my brain anymore, it’s all been pushed out by kid stuff like doctors appointments and gymnastics and parent teacher conferences!”

So remember: reproduce with caution. It just may be the last cool thing you ever do.

8 comments:

  1. hahaha
    oh jacob, i didn't know your mom used to be asian! thats cool!
    and accountants can be pretty non-boring f.y.i.

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  2. Whoa. That was fiercely depressing.

    If you need me, I'll be in a corner somewhere, tearing out the last of my hair.

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  3. Sorry, I never meant to be depressing, especially not fiercely so.

    Cheer up, my parents say that having a family is worth becoming super-boring. Who knew?

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  4. Whoa, my dad is Ice Cube? No wonder I turned out to be such a gangsta. I knew thug life was in the Divett genes somewhere.

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  5. Brennan, I already told you. If your last name is "Divett" then your blood type is "Pimp Juice."

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  6. Hi Jacob,
    Good stuff. I ran across this when I googled "Divett" for old (and I do mean old!) times' sake. I grew up next door to three Divett brothers, Bill, Tom, and Donald, on Mary Ellen street in Albuquerque o many decades ago. (There were three sisters too, all younger than the boys.) Anyway, if it sounds to you like this could be your dad, I can vouch for the fact that he was indeed a crazed madman, and blindingly fast, on anything with wheels. I've been writing a lot of wheels-centered memories from youth lately, and it seems that the first 70 or so pages are taken up primarily with stories about Bill. You might ask him sometime about the time he nearly attained orbit (and/or eternal rest) on his bicycle off a ridge jump out at The Dam, or the time he entered his first (only?) motocross race, in Santa Fe, and nonchalantly left the rest of the 250 Amateur class fighting for second place a half a lap behind him in every moto... If that is your dad, it's good to see him getting some rest on the couch after a very high-velocity youth!
    All the best,
    -Russ Cole (rcole@unm.edu)

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  7. Yes, sir. I am proud to say Bill Divett is my dad. I usually hear the adventure stories from other people (Tom, Don, Pete Webb) because I think my dad is hesitant to tell us kids about his adventures and have us kill ourselves trying to do the same thing.

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  8. hahahahahaha....at least your folks started off cool. a good read, thanks for sharing

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