idek i just busted out dumb shit
> Bro: Be the adult.
It's little and it shits but at least now you don't have to clean it up anymore.
Let's face it: You haven't the last clue of what on Earth being a parent entails. When the gift of screaming, pooping life was dropped none so ceremoniously onto your front doorstep, just about literally, you were seventeen, and your largest concern prior to this had been beating the newest class-act record: five twelve ounce cans of Mountain Dew in a minute flat.
You were like a hundred and forty two percent sure you could've beaten it.
How the shit were you supposed to name this thing?
Maybe if Hallmark hadn't yarfed up like an entire tuna casserole on those help books or whatever, this would've been a lot simpler. There was only so long you could lean on the whole 'irony' excuse before the legs snapped up from underneath the little goblin and you were sprawled on your ass with this thing in a diaper banging a spoon against your best vinyl. You weren't cut out for this shit.
The kid's first word was 'fuck'. You probably weren't doing this right.
But son of a Christ, you tried. You bought toys and shit, man. You got him this badass little baby t-shirt with flames - baby t-shirts with flames, who the hell made this stuff. Goddamn puppet shows. You, the nefarious you, on your knees in front of a high chair with a mustache'd sock, making up words to lullabies you couldn't remember. Yeah, it was weird. Ironic right? Puppets were cool because they were ironic. Fuck yeah. You were gonna stick with that one.
He's thirteen and it's like looking in a frigging mirror. That shit wasn't right. He was cursing like a sailor and supplying his own dinner by ten and it was by then you were pretty sure that you owed that kid a goddamn parenthood. You probably should've said something or done the adult thing at some point, whatever. Should've told him not to swear like real dads did. Or The Talk - HA HA, yeah fucking right, you'd buy the kid a freaking book before you hunkered down and discussed that shit.
It was kind of a, crap, I've fucked shit up so bad now, where do I start, oh well, game over kinda thing. Yeah, the kid was pretty damn cool, you were awful proud of him, but like what the hell did you do with that? You didn't knock anyone up, you never asked to be a dad. You were a pretty shitty makeshift one but maybe that was better than nothing.
Or maybe that was what you were going to roll with.
He wasn't out getting too fucked up. Dinner's on the table most nights. Oh yeah, and there was that whole thing where he was helping save the goddamn world. Maybe you didn't do such a shit job. But then again it didn't stop there from being katanas in the freezer instead of TV dinners. Fuck, you had to get the shurikens out of the toaster again.
Whatever. You did your best. Sort of. You did something, at least. It was more than you had to.
So you couldn't complain too, too much.