One of my college roommates is having a baby. Every time this happens, I am forced to reflect on how unprepared I am to start saving for a big screen TV, much less even consider the possibility of fatherhood. I’m 27, but most of the time I feel like I’m in high school and confused about life. Or junior high and girls, respectively. Or elementary school and body hair. Or college and my sexuality. The other times I feel like I’m 75 and very bitter about how I never even owned a television set larger than 32 inches. I suppose this would be OK if I didn’t harbor similar doubts about my old friends and their ability to deal with children.
When my last college roommate had her baby, I was afraid all the years of “slutting for homework” may have paid off with a fast graduation but left her unqualified to treat a newborn properly. Sure enough, she sent me this picture of him pimping for this website almost immediately. So now he’s on the same site that often features words like “fuck”, “diarrhea”, “vomit”, and “polish”. I wasn’t too worried, though, because her husband is a real adult and has things like maturity and emotional fortitude – things I imagine come in handy when dealing with kids. Of course, aside from the picture (which I appreciate) she has proven to be an excellent parent. So much so that I can now call her a mother, finally not bracketed by “beer crazy” and “fucker”.
But now another one is having a baby. You may know him as the guy who writes the “My Monkey of the Week” segments here. I know him as the guy who complains to me about using his name to write about monkeys in a way that will apparently get him fired someday. I love him dearly, but am seriously afraid in 9 months he’ll have prioritized “buy diapers” and “help son develop motor skills” way below “keep searching for a baby bib that says ‘Han Shot First’”. And does he know it will be at least a few years before he can start teaching this kid about military stealth and tactical maneuvers using X-Box Live? And even then, will he even be able to convince his wife the art of Tom Clancy sneak attacks are more important than spelling?
Perhaps I am just upset that he doesn’t own any pornography, hence denying all his friends the traditional “Porn Bequeathment Party”, wherein a soon-to-be father jettisons his collection because of the guilt generated by a baby within 50-feet of Rocco’s Anal Adventures – something that still could have been enjoyed on my crappy TV. Yet, with regard to the prospects of successful parenting, I will grudgingly admit it is probably better he never had any in the first place.
In the end, I’m sure he will rise to the occasion the same way all the other people did who at one point in their lives have fallen asleep with their head in my toilet. It should be noted, most of the ones who did this after final exams, not the ones who did it the night before, are the ones having kids. And for that, society can be thankful.