HHome of Ask Prodigal Dad

Saturday, January 9, 2010

When Moses Was In Egypt Land


Here is a lithograph of my children busy building the addition to my house.





My wife tells me that I shouldn't use the children as my personal slaves. I prefer a more enlightened approach.

As one gets older, and by “one” I mean me, one expect to be able to enjoy a calmer, quieter approach to life and pre-retirement. If, for a completely anonymous scenario I would happen to misplace my reading glasses or a hammer, or a chicken, I may or may not feel the desire to get off my bulbous hiney to find it for myself. I have children that I keep around for such situations. In fact, there are many times during the day that I let them out of their rooms in order to fetch things for me. When they are through, they may go back to their room. If they refuse to go, there is always duct tape.

My wife just does not understand this. She thinks that children are to love, cherish, spend money on, spend time with, to help with their homework and personal problems with a focus on the long term while not ignoring the short term, and proper parenting and appreciation and all that crap.

I think she reads too much.

I don't care what the democrats are doing to the constitution, kids are for assisting their ailing, feeble parents by doing chores, cleaning the house, mowing lawns, doing chores feeding animals, cleaning out the disposals, doing chores etc., until they graduate to paying some bills and loaning me pocket cash. This has been the way since the beginning of time, since Noah's asked his son to buy him a ark kit to keep him out of trouble. It worked then, and it works now. And it shall continue. Who am I to stand in the way of the natural order of things?

Of course, the whole help out your parents and stop complaining thing seems to have skipped a generation. Being a marginal son, and a better survivalist, I moved two hours away from my dad so I could have a reason not to fulfill my roll as care giver and money lender – not that he needs it. I am not telling my children this. They will have to learn this on their own. Until that sad, sad day when they figure out that Lincoln freed the slaves when their dad was just a boy – they are not relieved of the responsibility to go to Giganto mart to get me skim milk .

Now, I've got work to do. “ANNIEEEEE? WHERE ARE MY GLAAAASES?”

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