Eat as much grilled cheese as you can, without hurting others.
I don't know anyone that doesn't agree with that. Unless that other person is between you and more grilled cheese. Then that fucker gets what's comin.
But yeah, the part about the sanity. . my parents, they're wonderful people. They raised me right, gave me a great moral code, and supported me every step of the way. Both when I needed it, and when I was too proud to ask.
My issue with my parents is, I don't know how much of my life is a lie. I guess they were planning on having more than one baby, so it was ok if they fucked with the first one a little bit.
When I was a toddler, my favorite food in the entire world was Graham Crackers. I loved them. That shit was Ambrosia. Sent to right any wrong, they could fix anything.
So, seeing an opportunity to fuck with me, my parents taught me they were called brain surgery. So, for awhile, would ask them for brain surgery, and they would give me graham crackers. When I say awhile, I mean two and a half years. Until I started school.
So flash forward to my first day of kindergarten. I can't say I remember it perfectly, but I imagine it went something like this:
Little Josh Francis is playing in the sandbox, making castles and holes, because really there isn't much to do in a sandbox. Everything is going really well, and every single person there thinks I'm awesome and pretty much the coolest kid in the school.
Then snack time rolls around, and I start asking everyone for brain surgery. Cue the phone calls home with "concerns". (That last part actually happened. I wish it was recorded)
And that was just one thing. I was also taught the lines on the road were made out of cheese. I mean, I wasn't allowed to play on the road for obvious reasons, so how would I know better?
They also forgot my first birthday. I don't know where that rates on the baby-trauma scale, but I'm betting pretty high.
I'm terrified every day of my life that something else I have always believed to be true is going to end up being a lie.
you so crazy!
ReplyDeleteNow, I'd say, most of the people I like are a bit weird. "Normal" people just aren't interesting, besides, I feel odd among all those "normals", better just stick to people like myself ;)
ReplyDeleteIf I ever have kids, I'm following your parents example.
ReplyDeleteJosh, I am your father.
ReplyDeleteAren't you younger than me?
ReplyDeleteMy dad filled me with lies too. He was a cliff diver. Lived with trapeze artists. Most of the bullshit I could see through. But at the age of 35 or so, as I was starting to write a family history for my great great grandchildren's edification, I learned that my father also lied about living with a black foster mother, whom he loved dearly. Oh, there was a bit of truth in the story...he did live in foster homes. But this sometimes racist man never lived with a black family. He just made me think he did. So now I question everything. Did he really meet President Eisenhower over tea and give him advice? Is that bowling trophy really a secret award from the CIA for secretly infiltrating a Russian spy ring? Am I really named Lori? Lesson...don't believe anything my dad says. (but everything in the Enquirer is true!)
ReplyDeleteYour parents are my new idols. Tell them thank you for the childrearing tips. It also explains so much.
ReplyDelete