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.
And shouldn’t.
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.
The upshot?
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!
