You can spawn…and…shred!
Five days ago, lil Mike C lit up on the horrors that lay await for any surfer should he sire a child.
A brief, but revealing excerpt:
“The simplest tasks are made difficult, the most basic pleasures induce painful amounts of guilt, and surfing — especially for people with nine-to-fives — is almost entirely out of the equation. Being a parent truly is a full-time job, and through this trip I’ve gained newfound respect for any child-rearing couple. I don’t know how single parents even survive, to be honest.”
(Read on here)
Makes a man tremble in his shoes don’t it? As it should.
I’ve spawned kids almost since the day my vital spermatozoa announced itself in a dream (Nordic woman on rug by fire. Round, brown ass lifted a little, face turning towards me at the moment of ejaculation.)
Three I’ve kept, a few others were binned.
What kind of relationship is it where a woman offers her stud a pass-out? It ain’t reverse sharia. Be your own man. An hour out of her day so she can look after own kid ain’t gonna kill her. And, anyway, there’s a good chance you’re projecting your own guilt onto your gal.
Yeah, wah, wah, wah etc. Except what’s better for society? A kid no one wants (click here for the theory that legalised abortion lowers the crime rate ) or you take the gamble a foetus can’t feel the knife slicing it apart. I think, or at least, hope the latter.
Anyway, I got kids and surf pretty much whenever I want. Tends to be a lack of desire that keeps me out of the water more than responsibilites.
Here’s how it works.
- Babies don’t need two parents around ‘em: It’s a simple notion. A baby needs food, sleep and you gotta keep it warm. It takes two adults? The hell it does. It’s one of society’s laws, howevs, that you’ll meet a gal, she’ll want a kid while you’re noncommittal about the idea, so you go along with it cause you’re an easygoing sorta guy. Baby showers. Baby talk. Then the kid comes and you’re suddenly the devil for ruining her life. And you get thrown this guilt thing if you want to go surf. Speak frankly. Share the kid-rearing. She gets up all night to plant the kid on her cans, you do the morning shift and let your gal sleep in. Stuff the baby in a papoose and go surf check. You get back, you hand kid over. You go surf.
- But keep it short. Who needs two-hour surfs anyway? You’re not there to talk shit. Surf a double-heat, forty minutes. Twenty waves and you’re out. Your gal is thrilled ‘cause you’re back in an hour. And you ripped the heart out of the session.
- Know your tides and swell directions. Don’t drive aimlessly for hours. Know your spot. Hit it.
- This pass-out bullshit: What kind of relationship is it where a woman offers her stud a pass-out? It ain’t reverse sharia. Be your own man. An hour out of her day so she can look after own kid ain’t gonna kill her. And, anyway, there’s a good chance you’re projecting your own guilt onto your gal. Maybe she’s delighted your fat ass is out the door.
- Multiple kids: This is where it gets tricky. One kid is easy. Two parents means there’s always room for the other to hit the booze or go surf. Two kids is five times as hard as one; three is ten times. My advice? Stick to two and cut ‘em three years apart. That way, your bigger kid can walk, feed itself, don’t need plastic pants etc.
- The money thing. Mike C gets it right here. Kids are expensive. And not just school, clothes, school, all those lessons, all those birthday party presents every weekend. But remember pre-kids when hard times hit you could lay low, share a cheap room, live on Weet-Bix? When you got kids it’s not just their welfare, but their view of the world you’re shaping. You don’t want to send ‘em to school looking like bums. Or missing out on all those wonderful material gifts.
Life is meaningless, and absurd beyond measure. At least it is until a couple of kids show up. Their existence in your life creates a sense of legacy and turns you into a teacher of life’s precious gift. It anchors your place in the universe. For the first time in your life you feel love. Real love. A family you created. A world within a world.
And y’know what that means? Don’t get divorced ’cause you want to chase tail. Even if it’s all going to shit, even if the gal is crazy. Especially if the gal if crazy.
Bottom line: If you want your kids to prosper, love your woman, their mama, like she’s the last girl on earth.
Now go spawn!