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Precocious. A Short Story About Bad Communication And Father/Son Relationships"

3231 words - 13 pages

"Exactly what kind of stupid shit have I gotten myself into this time?" I asked my father."Don't worry, it only gets worse ... er ... better I mean," he replied."Growing up I invariably figured the two of you knew inherently how to raise us, now I question my ability to survive even my pregnant wife's wrath, much less an incessantly crying baby.""Funny you feel that way. Your mother and I raised you despite our ignorance and oddly enough I feel no more qualified now than I did more than twenty years ago.""Oh, thanks for that. You know what? I seriously doubt, based on your uplifting words here, that you truly are more qualified.""I love you too son," said my father. "Now instead of ...view middle of the document...

It is certainly far more reminiscent of a triage base that exists in any "X-files" like movie where recently captured aliens are carved like the Christmas ham with a bit of grade B teenage horror movie screaming mixed in to accent the not so serene surroundings. When I first witnessed my son, Owen, born into this troubled world, I felt a magnificent burst of love that Christ himself could not have invoked. Seconds later however, when the surprisingly slow neurons had traveled from my all too eager optic nerve to what I like to refer to as myself, my brain, a mere millimeters away, that love remained, capped with something new, shock. Thoughts will race through one's mind in this situation: "Funny, my head isn't twice as tall as it is wide," or "What exactly is that nurse doing stitching up my wife ... down there?" Luckily, for my own sanity these were intermingled like morse code within those of concern, fear, excitement and certainly, love. Suffice to say, the first day with my new child was not a picnic, a miracle, a wonderful package from god, the stork or any other freakish analogy that might be told to children and ignorant soon to be parents alike. It was however, the day that my life was drastically altered and along with the sickness and utter horror witnessed that day, I gained something new, a pride never experienced before. One that seems to multiply exponentially every week like an algorithm gone awry.Most will tell you that children in their early years are an utter handful. Luckily for my wife and myself this was not the case with Owen. In fact, mere weeks after leaving the hospital we were sleeping nearly an entire night, something many families are devoid of for months if not years. Perhaps more importantly however than my now beautiful son's penchant for nighttime silence was his daytime demeanor and willingness to learn, in his case siphon, as much knowledge as I could possibly bear to part with. Even before he had grasped a few meager words he was the proverbial hawk watching my every move and taking clues more often than not when least expected. Ever vigilant to the fact that I was under constant surveillance, my at home demeanor abruptly changed from college student/dock-worker to nearly angelic overnight. With ourselves safely on track, my most daunting task was to prevent Owen's grandfather from one of his favorite past-times: teaching Owen large words in a creepy manner. Imagine my shock upon picking up my son at his grandparents house only to gaze stunned at my boy eagerly rubbing his tiny hands together in an evil manner and repeating over and over "My plans are coming to fruition.""Skip out on this one?" I said to my father. "If you know of any way I can achieve that at a point like this I'd love to know.""I can think of one way," Dad replied. "Close your eyes for a second. I swear to you, if you do, you'll notice the next thing happening is your child on a bike and that you've missed a year, then two.""Seriously, I...

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