Make Me A Human Laugh Machine

Some day I might have a child. This goes in the face of what may, or may not, be a known truth about me: I am completely terrified of having (mostly raising) a child for a lot of reasons not worth going into now.

Actually, what I have openly said that “at this point in my life” I don’t want children and I can’t see a time when I might. And this point in my life has lasted a solid five years. I am just smart enough to know, however, that time changes things/people.

Lately the winds have been shifting on the baby front. Not a whole sea-change mind you. But as the missus and I settle in to married life, we want to shake out the last kinks we might not have gotten to over the last ten years.

And of course we waffle on this. I still contend that I think I would probably be pretty alright with never having children. While Katie is less certain. On other days Katie is pretty clear there will be no babies. These also happen to be the same days I more eagerly point out a little girl with particularly pretty ribbon in her hair, or a little crumb crusher with an ESPECIALLY over-sized back pack.

Her main claim, when arguing for breeding, is this, “But we would be such great parents!” Okay, everyone thinks this. Literally everyone. We are biologically programmed to believe it. Britney Spears has said it. Lohan’s parents. Everyone. This still remains the single worst reason to try to be a parent. Because you think you would be good at it.

I have a better reason. Kids are goddamn hilarious. It is like having a human laugh factory -- that you made -- set to entertain you 24 hours a day.

I live in Park Slope, Brooklyn, where I have first hand experience of this hilarity on a daily (hourly?) basis. Slopers are notorious for going on rampages about carriages not being allowed in bars. BARS!

And the bar in question relented! Wild stuff.

This puts together a pretty nice combo for humor. Really god awful know-it-all parents being shown up by their own progeny, who also turn out to be pretty god awful know-it-alls themselves. Just, you know, cuter. A perfect recipe.

For instance, I was walking around the neighborhood recently and I saw a kid, maybe about five, horsing around on a parking meter. He was climbing on it. Swinging around it. Just basically fucking around. Looked like a decent time, too. If I was 150 lbs lighter it is the very thing I would do every single time my mom spoke with one of her boring friends and neglected me. Take an inanimate object and turn it into a play ground. The alternative is to just stand there and listen to them list their favorite flavors of yarn, or kombucha.

This kid continues his circus act until his mom, who apparently skipped her fresh-squeezed hypertension juice this morning, comes running over and scolds him, “Excuse me, Mister. But, what makes you think that this is a good idea?!?”

I really wanted to interject, “Excuse me. Ma’am? Sorry to interrupt. But I think it looks like a GREAT idea! I mean here is this really dumb object, not really doing anything. But your son sort of decided to use the limber athleticism he still has to turn it into a game to occupy himself. He didn’t go all Cool-Hand-Luke on the meter or anything. Just sort of passing the time. All without interrupting your soliloquy on why it is so important for him to go to $2,000 standardize test prep-classes every week.”

I obviously didn’t say that, or anything for that matter. Mostly because I was afraid of her. I marked the event as another reason not to have kids and moved on to with my Saturday chores.

The last stop on my route was the bank. While filling out a deposit slip I noticed a young lad next to me doing some careful writing on the back of an envelope. Why it was our spry gymnast from before! Seemed he had found a more tame activity, compliant with his mother’s strict mores. He was taking his time with his writing, too. Very intent on getting the penmanship just right. It was clear he wanted his message clearly understood.

He wrote, “I HATE YOU”. Just like that. In all caps.

He slowly walked over to his mom, and gave it to her. He placed it in her hand and smiled back at her.

She didn’t freak-out or anything. Just sort of sighed and said, “Well, that’s just great. Thank you.”

Strangely, this event made me want children more.