Snapshots From the Life Of A 35-Year-Old

Tomorrow’s my birthday!!

July 3 will mark the 35^th year I’ve kicked around dirt on this lovely spiraling rock. I’m five years closer to that magical number 40. And, as a someone nears that age their forced to take a moment and reflect on everything they’ve done since they were born.

So here’s my reflection. Snapshots of my life over the past 35 years:

July 3, 1975 I’m born! Holy shit it’s bright out here

Age 1 - What’s up bitches!! I can walk!!

Age 2 - I don’t wanna poop in that thing!

Age 3 - Mine!

Age 4 - Is this a losth toof?

Age 5 - Why is the sky blue? Why do birds fly? Why does daddy’s butt make those sounds?

Age 6 - Can you turnaround while I get dressed?

Age 7 – Mommy, can I have a Garfield lunchbox?

Age 8 – My first record – The Beach Boys, Surfin’ USA

Age 9 – My first kiss.

Age 10 – Double digits bitches! I’m an adult and now! I know everything!!

Age 11 – My mom makes me Jams that are too poofy in the front so I look like I’ve got a butt-in-front.

Age 12 – I love every girl that looks my way and masturbation is so AWESOME!!!!

Age 13 – Iron Maiden, Meggadeath, MTV Headbangers Ball

Age 14 – My first heartbreak.

Age 15 – Music obsession reaches a new high.

Age 16 – I start dating my future wife.

Age 17 – This writing thing is pretty damn cool. Maybe I should obsessively write a journal and poetry…

Age 18 – I can drink, party all night, go to class when I want and my parents aren’t around? I LOVE college!

Age 19 – Long hair and living the grunge life-style.

Age 20 – I guess I’ll major in journalism and minor in professional writing.

Age 21 – I sell my car for $50 and my best friend almost murders me over it.

Age 22 – Why hello there real world…damn this sucks!

Age 23 – I marry the wife and place my balls in jar never to be seen again.

Age 24 – The wife and I contemplate moving to Washington state for the hell of it. End up in Virginia instead.

Age 25 – My first house! Now I’m all grows up!

Age 26 – Let’s start taking this running thing to a whole new level!

Age 27 – It’s a boy!! Let’s name him Grayson!

Age 28 – I just….want….to…..sleep. And I run my first marathon!

Age 29 – It’s a girl!!! Let’s name her Macy!

Age 30 – I just….want…to…sleep.

Age 31 – Oh sweet vasectomy how I love you!!

Age 32 – No more diapers! No more cribs! And everyone’s sleeping! Could this be real?

Age 33 – Alright family…let’s pack-it-up and move our asses to Chicago!!

Age 34 – Wow…this four-months being unemployed sucks…. Oh hey new job!

Age 35……..

What a wonderful ride it’s been.

Cussing & the Kids

“Sit the fuck down and eat your damn dinner!!!”

That phrase has probably been on the tip of every frustrated parent’s tongue at dinner time since the invention of kids. It’s on mine nine time out of ten.

But at the last second, that tiny little filter kicks in, erases “the fuck” and “damn” and cranks out the appropriate, “Sit down and eat your dinner!!”

Cussing in front of the kids is becoming more and more of an issue for me the older they get. The boy is hearing the words at school and even knows how to spell them.

“Daddy, I know how to spell the ‘F-word’. Wanna hear it?”

This is going to shock you but I cuss like a goddamn sailor. As soon as the kids’ heads hit their little pillows I flip the switch off and just let it flow.

But recently, that switch has been a bit lose and I’ve accidently dropped an “ass” or “shit” here and there.  The boy is always quick to say, “daddy!!! You just said a bad word.” Or the wife quickly snaps her fingers at me as I feel my testicles cringe and the hair stand-up on the back of my neck.

It usually only happens when I’ve broken something, or hit my massive noggin on something. I always feel awful after I say it, too.

I follow it up with, “Grayson and Macy, you know you’re not supposed to say those words right?”

“Yes daddy, we know.”

I have a buddy who has “Cuss Friday” with his two boys that are 7 and 12 years old. Every Friday he allows them to say any cuss word they want. The rules:  they can only say it to their father, their mother can never know (even though she does), and if they ever cuss in public or to another person the privilege of the game is over forever.

At some level I can appreciate that. It’s like controlled cussing in a way. But, then I envision what that would be like with my son and me.

Me: “What’s up motherfucker?”

Son: “Not much cock-smoke. Can I have some goddamn juice asshole?”

Me: “Shit yes you can. Go get it your fucking self.”

Son: “Fuck you old man, you go fetch it ass-bag.”

Me: “Don’t be a dick son. I’m not going to get it.”

Son: “FINE!! Goddamn it. I have to do everything!!”

After I play that through my mind I just can’t do it. I think I’ll stick with the modern version of the way it used to be: father works on lawn mower, scrapes knuckles along bolt, says “shit!!!!,” wife who is gardening near-by says “Walter!! The children for goodness sakes!!,” and father says, “sorry kids. Daddy shouldn’t have said that word. That’s a bad word and you should never say bad words.”

Where The Hell Did My Dude-Mojo Go?

This past weekend the wife tossed the kids and all their accoutrements in the car and drove 18 hours to Greensboro, North Carolina to spend the week with our family. I just started a new job in March, so I haven’t earned enough vacation time to where I could take a week off to join in on the trip. So…I was left behind.

I was stoked to be thrown in a spot where I’d have a solid week alone. I’ll admit, when they first drove down the street, I was sad. My daughter had cranked out a cute little picture and my son telling me how much he’d miss me was still ringing in my ears.

I walked back in the house, put on some coffee, walked upstairs, peed, then started to put the seat down when I realized, “what the hell are you doing man?

I immediately threw the seat back up with authority and walked out of the bathroom a new man.

It was time to be a freakin’ dude again. Storming down the stairs with a mission I walked in the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and quickly found myself sidetracked by all the dirty dishes. Immediately I started cleaning. I unloaded and loaded the dishwasher, cleaned the counters, and ten minutes later found myself wiping down all the cabinets with cleaner.

Who the hell had I become? I had an entire house to myself and all I could do was think about dropping toilet seats and having a clean kitchen.

Fortunately the World Cup, USA vs. Ghana game was coming on. But it didn’t get any better. By half time I was drinking white wine and standing on my front doorstep wondering what flowers I should buy for the new front flowerbed I had made.

Instance after instance I found myself doing non-dude stuff.

Finally, I’d had enough. So I went down to the basement, watched porn, then laced up my running shoes and went out for a run. Refreshed and ready to get my man-mojo back, I showered, didn’t shave, and left the deodorant right where it was sitting.

Twenty minutes later I was drinking red wine, eating brie and crackers and watching the news. Now I’d apparently turned 80.

That’s when I decided to just embrace who the hell I’ve become. So what if I plan on spending a couple hours in the garden. So what if I look in the mirror and criticize my body every time I get out of the shower. So what if a tiny tear appeared in my eye at the end of Toy Story 3.

I’m still going to fart, drink beer, watch a few baseball games, run, and check out women at the grocery store. Cause I AM a dude damn it.

I’m a dude with a wife and kids who have apparently spent many dark nights slowly pumping small amounts of estrogen in me while I sleep.