Truesday: Putting A Root Down

Yeah, sure. I’m a dick. But I’m more into the torture of the super-capable-to-the-point-of-incapable rather than the slapping of the straight-up prone. I don’t doom underdogs, I drink with them.

Which may be a semantic statement. I’m not sure, but I don’t feel qualified to judge.

There are an almost infinite number of hazards to fret over. Various entities which will undoubtedly, asshole-ishly and carelessly destroy its spirit. If it even has any sprit to begin with. What if it can’t hack the first few months? What am I supposed to do with myself then? Is there any reasonable goddamn probability that I’ll ever find pleasant dream’d sleep if any ill will or poor turn in health should happen to befall it?

The horror.

Or would I prove to be the callous asshole my 10th grade English teacher predicted I’d be? Will I be the guy who, in the galactically depressing shadow of tragically determined death, simply claps his hands together as if dusting off cue chalk, and exclaims “well, shit. That’s just awful. AND a total mulligan if I ever saw one!” Would she even understand the reasoning behind my supposed cruelty? It’s not like I would be the one directly responsible for its death. Not me. Never. I’d be probably be coping. Or something like that.

Besides, I, in all likelihood, will be alone in caring for the thing. At least, that’s what I’m going to be telling everyone.

After all, I’ll be the one who makes the real effort to raise it right. Well, I’ll probably WANT to do that more than anyone else will, which pretty much counts as DOING it. Pretty much.

As close as most other parents bother getting, anyway.

I’ll cover the usual associated paperwork. Making sure it gets what it needs. Back-patting Support, sustenance fulfillment, general healthcare and such. It’ll be me who does all the daily doings which will no doubt produce a creature which I’ll view as little more than an extension of my person, as I see myself, in every way. Every facet of its behavior I will attribute to my own brilliance or bumbling. I will take credit for its successful growth, and chide myself whenever it falls apart.

And oh, my dear lord, it will fall apart. Guaranteed.

But until then, I will be it. It will be me. We will be inseparable in spirit and soul. We will feed each other’s sense of purpose and being in such a way as to make all those creepy Hollywood couples with their fad religions so jealous they will probably punch each other in both remarkably fierce, and poorly directed rage. Repeatedly, in the mouthal and groinal regions.

And this will cause me to beam a pride not unlike that displayed by my own dear mother on that momentous summer evening when she telephoned just to tell me that if I “didn’t come pick up the rest of [my] stuff by this weekend” she was going "to throw all that shit out."

She threw it out. Mom didn’t fuck around when it came to throwing shit out.

And I will be just THAT proud.

But really, there’s a serious risk in taking on a grand responsibility of this proportion in a landscape of such cruel human intentions. Let’s face it: on the whole, people tend to fuck things up in both curious and atrocious ways. And when deliberate viciousness fails, there’s always random negligence to pick up the beat-stick slack.

Can one honestly consider themselves a responsible adult if they knowingly introduce a new character to the giganta-tragedy that is the current human condition? Even if it happens here in ‘Merica, the most privileged and spoiled stage/act of the whole production?

I don’t know. I really don’t. But it’s highly likely that I’ll get bored and do it anyway.

We have a very small, delicate, live Christmas tree that will soon require being “set free” somewhere in my yard. He’s less than a foot tall, the little dude. But he’s outgrowing his pot-britches, and I’m just not sure I’m ready to commit to planting his little root-ball out there in the big, hard-soiled and scary world. He’ll get pissed on for sure. Probably by my dirty friends and neighbors.

And probably me.

But I’ll blame any warping or poor growth on the public school system. Like every good parent.