To Serve

Parents give and children take and that is the natural order.

Christmas is over. The season of unconditional giving is over. Now the wallet closes. The threats of taking toys back and telling Santa your child is an asshole are over. But not really…

If my child asks for new shoes, a new toy, a new game, something special and out of the usual food and shelter and occasional outing; I still am here to serve. Chances are, if I can afford it I will say yes. Chances are, if YOU can afford it, you will say yes. I continue to serve my children during the entire year. It doesn’t matter how big or how small, I will serve those little fuckers. I will do it. And I will do it thinking that I am not doing it well enough, fast enough, happy enough, sober enough. And the same goes for YOU.

Not to sound too cliche, but we didn’t always get shit when I was a kid. We got clothes as needed, mostly at Christmas and the beginning of the school year. When we were old enough to have jobs, my parents never bought us clothes again. We didn’t get dinner outside of the house. When we did, it was the biggest fucking deal. (We were still awful in the restaurant) There was no stopping at McDonald’s on the way to an evening soccer practice. We also didn’t get to (or have to) play club sports. We played parks and rec and then Jr. High and High School. We knew how to make eggs and pour cereal. The idea of my parents spending $5 on a coffee drink for us, to just have in the back seat as we ran errands. That is Twilight Zone shit.

But we were little jerks. The things my parents worked hard to give us, we were assholes about. The jacket wasn’t a Columbia jacket; dating myself. So I was embarrassed to wear it. It was North Dakota, and I would go without a coat because it wasn’t a name brand coat. What a little fuck face! My dad drove the craziest cars. He loved them and the rest of the kids, we were mortified. In -20 weather in Fargo, we would beg our dad to drop us off blocks from the school. As a parent, a parent with a car payment who buys gas and insurance, I would go back in time and hit my old self in the throat. Having and owning and caring for a car is a pain in the ass and having a job and kids is a pain in the ass and if I take the time to drive a child somewhere, it’s because I heart them. Because I love them and care for them.

All of this ranting is really just my big heart bleeding love and tears. The reason I get up and go to work and make money and buy things is because I am driven to serve my children. It’s an innate need to provide and secure their best interest. When they don’t eat what I make, sure it stings a little, but it’s more upsetting because my instinct is to fill their bellies with food. This is why we give them McDonald’s. Obviously, I wouldn’t give them poison if it wasn’t dressed as a chicken nugget. I NEED to grow them. I MUST get them from child to adult. It’s part of my evolutionary and genetic make up.

Post holiday, I am still here to serve. What is done, is already in the past. The many, many dollars I spent, the hours I worked, the time I set aside to get the perfect thing, none of this means anything to children. They are here to take. In the taking, they will one day learn to serve. In the interim, my feelings and moods and thoughts and instincts about the lack of gratitude will be stowed deep inside a stiff martini. And again, in minutes, I will put aside a need or a want to serve theirs.