Usually, a couple going through a divorce will fight bitterly over custody of the kids, and Fred and Mary were no different.
“I don’t want them!” yelled Mary. “You take them!”
“Hell no!” shouted Fred back. “I said abort them both times, but you insisted on keeping them!”
They kept this up for days. The lawyers tried to help, but the unhappy couple just got louder.
Then, the fighting abruptly stopped. Fred and Mary nodded at each other, and both walked out of the conference room.
And never returned.
The lawyers ended up raising the kids.
God help us all.
Tag: childhood
The Sled
I grew up in a big family, and we didn’t have much.
All the kids had to share one sled. We carved our names into it.
Right over the curse.
That Winter, the year I had the broken leg, the other kids took turns going down the hill.
“Let’s all get on!” shouted Robbie.
I watched through the window as the sled veered out of control, and they ran straight into the old tire swing tree.
Broken necks, hypothermia, and frostbite got them all.
Except me. I was the last kid left.
My dad busted the sled up for firewood.
Boing
I wasn’t responsible enough for a dog or cat, let alone a pet rock.
“You’d throw it through a window,” said my mother. And then she’d tighten the straps and buckles on my harness.
As I sobbed, I noticed a glimmer on the wall.
A sunbeam reflected off of a buckle.
I named it “Boing.”
He followed me everywhere.
At night, I turned on the lights, and Boing danced on the walls.
Over the phone, the psychologist told my mother to bring me in.
Boing felt threatened, and he leapt into her eyes while she drove us to the hospital.
Itsy Bitsy
I’ve spent the last ten years trying to breed itsy and bitsy spiders together to make an itsy bitsy spider.
The problem is that itsy spiders don’t want to breed with bitsy ones, and bitsy spiders will have nothing to do with the itsy ones.
I’d use artificial insemination, but have you ever tried to artificially inseminate a spider?
You have?
Well, dang! You know how hard it is.
Imagine how hard it is when their bits are itsy!
Teeny-weeny… literally!
Once, I thought I had an itsy-bitsy spider, but down came the rain, and…
Well, you know the rest.
Basher
Blood River High School’s football team is a championship factory, led by Coach Bart Basher for forty years.
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts Coach Basher.
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts the kid on the ground, and he struggles up to his feet to rejoin the huddle.
It’s Thursday’s workout drill, and a kid takes a savage hit and goes down.
What was the kid’s name?
Who knows?
Every kid wears jerseys without numbers.
Nobody’s limping or lollygagging, despite the blood and gore and…
PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN! shouts Basher.
Every kid shouts it back.
Except the kid without a head.
What do you want to drink?
The stewardess asked me what I wanted to drink.
I said “The tears of every bully who picked on me in school.”
She checked her cart.
“We’re out of that sir. Care for some Pepsi? Or juice?”
“What about their blood? Do you have their blood?”
“Sorry, sir, but we don’t carry that either. Maybe you’d like a glass of milk?”
“Just don’t give him any booze,” growled the guy next to me.
Frankie?
Frankie Podhoertz.
Sitting next to me.
He used to beat me up for my lunch money every day.
“Just a straw,” I said. “A sharp straw.”
Cognitive Horror
When I was three years old, a scientist sat me down at a table and showed me a box of crackers.
“What’s inside the box?” he asked.
“Crackers,” I said.
The scientist opened the box, and poured out some rocks.
“There are rocks inside the box,” he said, and then he scooped up the rocks and put them back into the box.
“Your Mommy is about to walk into the room,” he said. “What will she think is inside the box?”
“She won’t care,” I said. “She’ll be more interested in drinking your blood.”
I bared my fangs and laughed.
Second Grade
I love to teach.
I love teaching this class. And these kids.
Working so hard, and learning so much. They’re such great students.
So, I’m going to fail them all.
Yes, I’m going to give each one a big fat red F on their report cards.
And they’re going to have to repeat the second grade.
Which means I’ll get them for another year.
What? You think they won’t let me teach them again?
But they let me teach them again this year.
And the year before.
Maybe I’ll keep them forever, here in the second grade.
Pencils down, kids.
The Orphan
My father died two years before I was born. And my mother died soon after.
So, how was I born?
My mother’s sister got everything in the house, the cars, and the embryos in the fertility center’s cryogenic vault.
At first, she wanted to get rid of the embryos. But she had a dream in which her sister told her to carry one to term.
And that’s how I was born an orphan.
I turned out alright, but I don’t recommend it.
Still, I’d like to see my brothers and sisters.
I’ll pay you fifty thousand for each one.
Deal?
Pool Shark
My grandfather was a pool shark, and he tried to teach me and my brother how to play pool.
My brother listened, but he didn’t have the talent.
I had the talent, but I was too young to listen.
Only after he died did I listen, his voice in my ear, telling me to think through each shot and breathe.
I got good. Really good.
Tournament-winning good.
Then, I broke my elbow.
It just doesn’t extend correctly anymore.
My wrist and fingers won’t bridge properly either
I’ll send my cue to my niece. Hopefully, she’ll hear his voice whispering “Breathe.”