I’m not a good parent, I’ll admit it. Part of the reason is: there’s no quality control when it comes to who can be a parent. They let anybody do it. Nobody checked my background or my credit. Nobody called my references. I didn’t have to pass a drug test. Nobody really even gives you any instructions on how to be a parent. At the hospital they tell you “Don’t shake ‘em,” and then they just boot you out of there.
I make some mistakes, is what I’m saying.
The other night I was driving my six-year-old and three-year-old sons home. It was late, I was tired, and I didn’t feel like making them dinner so I stopped at McDonald’s and got them happy meals. This is a bad thing to do. They’re trying to grow and everything, and there are no nutrients in there. I pulled into the drive through and my six-year-old saw what I was about to feed them and he said, “Do you even love us?”
It got worse from there. My boys got their happy meals, opened them, and lo and behold: instead of toys, these happy meals had books, and my boys proceeded to lose their minds. “We hate booooooooks!” they yelled. “We hate reading!” I thought, Oh, no. I thought my kids were smart but they’re actually dumb.
Then I started to get mad, and suddenly I was yelling, “If you guys are going to be all ungrateful and illiterate then I’m taking back the books and all those nuggets. All these nuggets are for me! See if I don’t eat up all of these nuggets!”
And I did. And all three of us cried all the way home.