You'd think that my mother would want her baby boy to go out there, find some delusional harlot who doesn't mind having mac and cheese eaten off of her backside, and spread my demon-seed as clumsily as humanly possible and produce some sort of offspring who shares their father's hatred of ill advised Hip Hop. You'd think that my mother has dreamt of the day that she could hold her grandchildren in her arms, look them in the face, and lovingly ask the infant "Is my son really your father, because blue eyes don't run in my family???" But the sad reality is that my mother has no interest whatsoever in becoming a grandparent. Ok, let me revise that, I have never met a woman in my life so vehemently opposed to any of her children bringing a drooling crumb-snatcher into this world. I'm serious, if I even mention procreation she breaks out with a "Don't think I'm going to be the one babysitting, watching those brats for you!! What do I look like, burping your brats and whispering in the baby's ear how you wet the bed until you were 18, while you go to the club, hook up with some girl, and catch some new disease that they will probably end up naming after your ass!!. FUCK, that." I don't want any of you to get the wrong impression of my mother, I love her to death and she is an extremely warm person, an example of said warmth is when she comforted me after an extremely difficult break-up by saying, "Pull up your skirt already, Jesus fucking Christ. So she was a whore?? So she fucked more black men than the U.S government?? Realize the guy she is with now probably nicknames his penis "Marco Polo" based on all the "new territory" he's exploring, and move the fuck on already!!" My mother, you have to love her, she's like Dr. Phil on steroids with a loaded 45.
That being said, lately when I have made gestures about wanting to have kids, she has been amazingly receptive. There hasn't been any angry anti-babysitting diatribes, no "a child can't raise a child" quips, no looks of disgust as if Rush Limbaugh had just spread his diseased butt-cheeks and farted, she doesn't even mock me with a "All I hear is.. whah-whah-whah-whah..Its like Charlie Brown's teacher, only chubbier and with dreadlocks" retort. I started to think that my mother was up for babysitting my offspring afterall, until I finally figured out her evil plot, she wants me to have kids so they can put me through the same drama I put my her through. I thought to myself, "I wasn't a bad kid, I have nothing to worry about!!", but as the day went on memories of my bad behavior started to interrupt my daily thought process like flashbacks to a Vietnam War veteran. Here are a few reasons why I feel my mother wants me to have children.
I have always been very vocal about my bowel movements: Let me tell you, the woman who marries me has to be Mother Theresa, one that likes to deep throat that is, because I have certain habits that are pretty disgusting. No, I don't have a drawer full of toe nail clippings, or a room full of Mary J Blige posters where she is posing with her make-up off. I'm talking about my post bowel idiosyncrasies, habits that include me saying "Whew, I..have..just..lost WEIGHT!!!", "Man, I can suddenly jump so much higher!!", and the line I stole from an Ice Cube song "Comin' out, feeling about, 10 pounds lighter!!" Yes, I'm immature, but then again I am the same guy who giggles whenever you say the word "Boobies", so please consider the source. It all started when I was a baby though, I would be with my mother in some grocery store, and whenever I would have a bowel movement in my diapers I would let out an extremely loud "Ewwww..Ewwww..Ewww". Aparently, this embarrassed my mother so much that she still talks about that like it happened a couple of years ago.
Even as a kid I had a problem holding my tongue: We all know that kids can be brutally honest, but the level of honesty that made its way out of my mandible forced my mother to take off whatever shoe she was wearing and beat me with it.(That might explains why I still have an issue with High Heels) It was like Rush Limbaugh doing his radio show after he just got finished eating some ass, some of the shit that came out of my mouth was quite disturbing. One time I saw some kid who was mentally handicapped and I loudly asked my mother, "Mommy, what is wrong with that baby's head??!!!" Or the time I asked my mother, as we were standing behind the woman in question in a grocery line, "Mommy, that woman has the biggest butt I have ever seen!!" I guess the worst offence, based on a conversation that I heard my parents had, is when I told my mom's friend "Mommy told me to stay aways from your husband because he likes little boys!!" My poor mother had to put up with a lot, I guess she still does, based on me telling a male cashier recently "If you keep giving my mother attitude I'm going to bludgeon you to death with that cash register, and I will be too busy stomping you to ask whether you want paper or plastic!!!"
I viewed Santa and the Easter Bunny as al Qaeda: I don't know what it is, but as a kid I treated anybody dressed up like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny like my personal punching bag. No shit, if me and my mother were to walk past a grown man wearing a bunny suit, I would punch him in the crotch mid stride like I was doing a punch-by. One time when I was a little boy, and that fat white bastard in that red suit asked me what I wanted for Christmas as I sat on his lap, I paused, then proceeded to smack the holiday cheer out of that motherfucker. Each year my mother thought that I matured so she would let me get back on Santa's lap, but the end result would be me either kicking Santa in his yule-log, puling off his hat and wig and throwing it for distance, I even think I gave Saint Nick a headbutt one year.
I've been a pervert since my tonka and G.I Joe days: When I was 5 or so, we lived across the street from these two sisters names Shelly and Rebbecca who were a few years older than me. We would do the normal kid stuff, play in the sand, tag, throw a Frisbee around, but my favorite pastime was me rubbing Shelly and Rebecca's legs whenever I got the chance. I know I wasn't old enough to get an erection aka "The baby's arm", but when I rubbed those white girls legs I knew it brought me joy on some level. Matter of fact, like a recreational cocaine user who's habits spiral into smoking cooked cocaine on a regular basis, my leg rubbing ritual became to be quite the common occurrence. Shelly's parents caught me rubbing legs like a madman but they didn't care because they were just a couple of dirty hippies. But when my mother found out what I was doing that was the end of the relationship between my hands and the creamy white thighs of an 8 year old. I still remember my mother telling my father about it and him responding, "Well, look on the bright side, at least the little shit isn't gay!!"
Me and authority have always had beef: Like an asshole boss at a slaughterhouse, I guess I still have beef with authority. Like a few weeks ago when I got pulled over by Virginia Beach's finest, he wasn't going to give me a ticket but proceeded to ask me about drugs and a gang of other shit, it was to the point that I just told him "Look, just give me a ticket so I don't have to hear you endless bullshit, Ok Serpico??" But it all goes back to pre-school, when I was told to take a nap and didn't want to, so I grabbed my bag and ran out of the building on some "Prison Break" shit. Or the time I played pee-wee soccer and the coach took me out for a kid who couldn't hold my ball supporter athletically, when I asked him why, and he told me that he had to give everyone playing time I said "What kind of man are you?? This is amateur hour, you don't want to win do you??" There was that time that my pee-wee football coach grabbed my face-mask aggressively to yell at me, so I immediately pushed him off me and said "Get your mother-fucking hands off of me!!". Then we have my junior high years when my favorite response to teachers who put me on the business end of a lecture was, "Who in the fuck do you think you're talking to??" Man, if that shit about Karma is true, my kids are going to be the death of me.