Every time that I feel that I would be an excellent father, based on my experience with a verbally abusive parnet and not wanting to be like that and how kids tend to think that I am funnier than Shaquile O'Neal in a spelling bee, I always do something to put extreme doubts in my head that I will ever win "Father of the Year" when I do spread my demon seed. For example, I spend a great deal of my time with the bass player in my band, my friend named Rich. Based on him being a single father, whenever we play basketball, golf, or catch a movie, there is a good chance that his son Jake will be accompanying us. It's not a problem since he is a good kid, and by interacting with the young man I always feel that the conversations I have with him will be good practice whenever I have a junior Humanity F. Critic. The problem is that I tend to give painfully honest answers, answers that an authority figure shouldn't be putting into an impressionable mind like Jake's based on the faces of anguish that Rich gives me whenever I say something irresponsible.
Like the time that Jake was telling me and Rich that an older girl at his catholic school was bullying him, punching him in the face whenever she got the chance. When Rich told him to tell the principle, he turned to me and asked for my advice, with Jake saying "Yeah Uncle HumanityCritic, what should I do?" I paused, thought about it, and said: "Why don't you walk up to her, pull he dress over her head the same way hockey players do in a fight, and beat her ass with your book-bag. She won't mess with you again!!" I guess that was the wrong answer, by the way Rich said "Don't do that!!" and immediately led his child to the other room. Or the time when Jake expressed that he didn't like football, and I told him that he should quit and try something else. Rich was pissed, but didn't say anything because Jake said, "But HC, my coach say that 'winners never quit and quitters never win!!!" In which I responded, "But he is 40 years old and coaches a little league football for christs sake, what in the hell does he know??" So, based on my clumsy interaction with my friends child, I have come to realize that there are certain things that I will never tell my children. Here are a couple.
A very dangerous habit: When I was in catholic school I was a terror, from asking the nuns why there weren't any pictures of a black Jesus to be found, the fights that I would have with other kids in my class, and the lustful pre-teen fantasies that usually had something to do with a girl removing her plaid skirt, nothing will come close to a prank I pulled at the end of a particular school year. Sister Catherine, a nice nun who probably was the best teacher in school, has a ritual of falling asleep at the end of class sessions. We left her alone, primarily because she was cool and gave us less homework than any other teacher. But, because I was a prick even then, I thought it would be funny to staple Sister Catherine's habit to her chair while she was asleep. After I did it, it was surprising that she didn't wake up based on my girl-like giggles and the sporadic rumblings of laughter from my fellow classmates. When the bell rang and we all got out of our seats to leave, all you could see was sister Catherine struggling to get up, arms flailing, wondering why she couldn't get her ass out of that chair. Everyone just laughed and kept it moving, avoiding being fingered for this particular crime, except for me because I stuck around admiring my work, just laughing my ass off. Thank god we were passed the whole "ruler on the knuckles" phase at that point, because my only punishment was a few days of detention.
Don't Drive Drunk: When I was in High School, my gym teacher lived on the same street that I did. Usually that wouldn't mean shit, but based on the fact that he was a raging alcoholic that would stumble in his house every night after parking his car crooked in his driveway, I knew that this bit of knowledge would serve me well eventually. When my senior year came around, and my gym teacher started drinking heavily at my neighborhood bar on weekdays, I knew how I wanted to fuck with his mind. Around 2 in the morning on a weekday, me and my friend Daryl waited for our gym teacher to get home after a night of heavy drinking. He pulled into his driveway, damn near ramming his car through his garage door, literally stumbling in his doorway like he had been on a three day drinking binge. That is where me and Darryl came in, strategically splashing this red substance in front of his car to depict blood like he had hit someone in a drunken stooper. It was wrong, and a very mean thing to do, but at the time it was the funniest shit imaginable.
The next day while I was shooting hoops in gym, I noticed our gym teacher pacing back and forth outside, chain smoking so severely that you would have thought that his head was a fucking barbecue grill. You know what, I don't know where he is now, but I didn't see him come home drunk for the rest of that school year.
Potent Piss bombs: One thing that I miss now that I am an adult far removed from childhood, is the anticipation that I used to feel right before going to summer camp. I mean, you can't beat staying active during the summer months, continuous swimming, the chance to see female campers naked, and hoping to receive the coveted "inappropriate touch" by the camp lifeguard Ms. Shields as she tried to guide me through a brand new swimming maneuver as I fought back my pre-teen chubby. Anyways, at the end of each summer they would break us up into teams and we would have an all out water balloon war. Yeah, it sounds lame, but since the older kids would make it their business to pummel you into oblivion with their more developed throwing arms, this particular year I wanted to get my revenge. So what I did, which gets nastier each time I retell this tale, was for about 2 days straight I filled about 20 balloons with Humanity F Critic homemade urine. That's right, piss balloons that I stored for the battle that was just on the horizon. Funny thing was, even back then I was aware that I should keep things to myself, because I knew that if I had informed my teammates of my evil plot that it would get out faster than Tevin Campbell in a whore house.
The day arrived and I was set, my arsenal of what was then extremely stale piss bombs, ready to meet their destination of what would be the heads of all the older fucks who messed with me one time too many. Even now I giggle as I think about my accuracy that day, and how many times the phrase "What did you put in those balloons?" escaped the mouths of people that I had just doused with my urine Grenades. I don't know how many people I drenched that day, but most of the campsite that day smelled like the urinal at an all day ZZ Top concert. When people got sick I just knew that I would get caught, but I didn't, that just taught me that if you plan to do dirt then keep that shit to yourself.