Sunday, January 15, 2012

Three Cats In The Cradle...And The Swimming Pool

With my fucked-up work schedule, I get to see my three kids for about five minutes on any given week.

When I’m sleeping or at work, they are at school.

When they go to bed, I’m just getting up for work.

I’m lucky to bump into them in the hallway and get a “what’s up?” from them during the week.

It sucks, but what’s a guy to do?  Go on the government tit so I can stay home?

The purple-tongued stutterer would like that, but I don’t fucking think so… 

Even with all this bad timing, I still manage to stay involved in my kids' lives.

I was lucky enough during the recent holiday season to be able to attend one of their swim meets.

All three of them are on their high school’s varsity team.

All three of them are multiple varsity letter winners.

All three of them are head and shoulders above where their old man was at their age.

When I was their age, I was on my high school’s swim team also.

I never earned a varsity letter.

I was pathetically slow and uncompetitive during my glorious 2-½ years of participation in the sport because I basically didn’t give a fuck about anything except drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and being a general shit-bag.

I was eventually kicked off the swim team for showing up at a school function one evening with beer on my breath and purposely emphasizing that fact by conversing with one of my assistant coaches.

My late father, a guy who always had my back regardless of the circumstances, confronted the assistant coach at the school the next day.

The incident turned loud and physical, but my status as a former member of the team was not to change.

My old man was a hard-ass…and I will always love him…but as I think back on it now, maybe he should have paid a little more attention to the shit I was getting into.

I’m not blaming him, but maybe he shouldn’t have given me so much freedom to fail on my own and learn from my mistakes.

I guess maybe I was the type of kid who needed a little more one-on-one personal guidance.

Anyhoo…I believe parenting is a learn-as-you-go type thing.  Take from your parents what you think works, leave the rest behind, and add your personal touch to the process.


It’s all water under the bridge now.

My kids laugh at me when I tell them stories of my youthful indiscretion, and they probably sometimes think I’m a fuck-up…but then I remind them that they can’t kick my ass, and things turn back to normal.

They know all about my high school days, and I’ve made it a point to make sure they don’t do the same stupid shit I did.

Mission accomplished, I think.

Some of you might be saying, " are projecting your failed miserable life onto your kids and you forced them to swim because you sucked so bad and you are living a dream-like state through your poor abused children!  You are a Nazi.  I am going to inform the authorities!" 

First of all, I would say "go fuck yourself," then I would tell you to mind your own fucking business and go ahead and send your government goons.  I'll be waiting patiently.

Then I would tell you that these kids were encouraged to participate in extra-curricular activities...and not forced...but that they would finish what they started, put forth maximum effort, and not quit. 

They are all anchors for their team…consistently finishing at or near the top in their events, and setting, or nearly setting, school records in the process.

Watching them perform is amazing.

They are powerful, dedicated, motivated athletes.

They keep their bodies and minds clean and strong.

I couldn’t be more proud of them.


All action photos by Mr. Cross courtesy

Used without permission.
Sue me. 

Fuck Obama.


  1. Sounds to me like you've done alright with your kids... :)

  2. Beech Grove?? Beech Grove!?!?! I was born in Beech Grove.

    I've never even heard of it outside my birth certificate.

    And here's my brand newest internet blogger hero who sounds like he's a little bit drunk and very pissed off with each post saying he's from Beech Grove.

    Damn. Small world.


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