You've Got To Have Been Bad To Know Bad. (Parenting in general)

Member Name: Farting Weasel

Product:	Parenting in general
Date:	30/10/06 (93 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: What advantages?

Disadvantages: The doghouse beckons, bonny lad.

You’ve Got To Have Been Bad To Know Bad.

Being a dad.

Ok . Being a dad. Fabulous. If you are reading this, you’ll probably be thinking that being a dad is a cornucopia of family bliss. Yes? Sorry, but no, it’s not.

Be under no illusion, to be a dad is to be a Homer Simpson. You are not perfect. If you were, you’d be known as Nobody because Nobody is perfect.

The fact is that as soon as that little bundle of joy collides with the real world, your number is up. Your arse is nailed to the mast. And make no bones about it, you’ll never be allowed to forget it.

Whilst mum is the cradle of all that is warm and perfect, you, as dad, are the epitome of all that is wrong. You’ll drink too much, you’ll smoke too much and your language will be too colourful for young ears. You’ll be lazy and your friends will be just a load of good-for-nothings. You'll dress wrong and your musical taste will be shite. A liar, cheat and vagabond, you are, in effect, completely out of place, time and space.

Get used to it dude. It gets worse. When the kids get older they’ll join in the dad-baiting.

Today I got caught with a fag in my mouth ( for our American friends, read cigarette) after three months of trying to pack in. The thing is, I like my smoke, and the stress of life recently, coupled with a back that has just gone U/S which probably means my job has gone with it, means I really do need a smoke. That’s all. I’ll not be the first, nor the last. But the point is, the misdemeanour will be reported back to mum and my life will once again be rendered miserable. Back to the dog house go I.

But…

I’m a rocker. And once a rocker, always a rocker. And this is the way when my first kid landed. And I’ve been a pariah ever since. Yep, I’m the purist form of all evil. It doesn’t matter that I know when my kids are going wrong, nor that I know what to look for when it happens. Or where to find the fuckwits who are giving them a helping hand. Easyrider? Nah, just another aging hippy. But I do have a very good friend called Hickory The Pick Axe Handle and he does a very good job when, and where I need him. And I do know how to help the kids out when they find themselves in too deep. Y’know what I mean?

Unfortunately I’m just the aging ejit who cajoles and bullies. I’m the idiot who stresses out when my kids are late back in. Yep, I’m a real bad bastard, me.

However…

My kids don’t drink. They don’t get junked up and they know (as I do) who to avoid and they know they can always come to me for help; no matter what. We may not speak to each other much, but I do know when something is up, as they know I know. Their pals are top notch, who have the same sort of traumas as most kids have without the aid of Crack or Horse. As far as they are concerned, Moroccan is something from Morocco, not an additive for a reefer. They surf and generally have a good time. I don’t have to worry about dealers, pimps or racers. I know the signs and they ain’t there. And when they are there, I’m the first to know.

So I’m the devil incarnate.

Let me tell you something. If you want you’re kids to be safe it’s not good enough to be the welcoming papa at home. You’ve got to know what is going on around you. You’ve got to know what the streets are like and what they can do to your children. Appearance is not good enough, you’ve got to be able to suss a bad ‘un when you see one. But above all. Know your kids.

And to be able to do this you must have lived it. Forget mum and her rosy hued view of the world. It’s wrong. The world is a nasty place. You must prepare your children, and be prepared for your children to go into the arena that is society on their own. The only way you can do this is to have been there.

So you haven’t? No? Oh dear.

Yes, I’m a bad bastard. I’ve seen a lot of stuff that really shouldn’t be seen, and I don‘t want my kids to see it. There are a lot of mean people out there and they don’t give a fuck, unless you make them. Remember this.

But above all, my kids, their friends and their associates know that I am Satan himself if they put a foot wrong.

Being a dad? I wouldn’t wish it on any one. Pure torture.

No!

Summary: Pure torture.