In response to:
Dear Friends who have kids,
The other night, a bunch of us were doing gravity bong hits and talking about how much we missed our friends with kids. Did I say a bunch? Perhaps that’s overstating it. Rather, the other guy I know without kids and I were having this conversation. After about 10 tequila shots, we tabled that subject and broke some shit. I made him drive home at 2:30am. After all, it was a Monday night so we were taking it easy.
The next night, I was out with a bunch of new friends. Most of them are 10 years younger than me and enjoy calling me the “old guy,” who they want to be just like. They’ll never get married or have kids or sell out or move to the suburbs. They’ll stay cool forever and ever (just like me). I like my new friends, but they throw up a lot and fight with each other about stupid shit. Rather, they text each other misspelled abbrevs of stupid shit. Still, it’s certainly better than hanging out with you and your damned kids.
Sure, it’s hard out here for a veteran partyer. The 39 year old liver does not laugh off a 36 hour coke binge the way it used to. What’s more, you wouldn’t believe some of the drugs out there now. We had bongs, these brats have beakers and test tubes! Some days you just have to wonder, what is the meaning of all this? Then you realize, the meaning is you. You are living the dream!
Apologies if this letter is disjointed. While you’ve been carefully raising your children, I’ve been carefully annihilating extraneous brain cells and relaxing. Admittedly, living the good life has made me soft. I get to deal with rational adults all day long. Since they are older, they tend to be highly intelligent and thoughtful. They tend to read a lot and ask important questions. They tend to think critically. Sooooo much better than children and all that wide-eyed wonder bullshit.
At least that’s what I think. But what do I know? After all, I don’t have kids. I couldn’t possibly comprehend how tired you are. How broke you are. How scared you are that your kid might fall or fight or stick a fork up the dog’s ass. How sick you are of Disney, Dreamworks, Diapers. How much you’d give to go back for just one night with the old gang, carefree, smoking cigs, drinking wine, talking about the future and the magic we’re all going to make. How you wonder if the only “magic” you’ve made is these damned kids. How you know (and we don’t) with all of your heart that you have, in fact, made magic. Nah, we don’t get all that. We took the easy path. We stayed at the party and, just like Dr. Thompson promised, it got weird.
Or maybe, just maybe, we are just as old as you are. Maybe we, too, wish we were 24 again, with 24 year old concerns and 24 year old livers and lungs. Of course, you won’t hear any complaints from us. After all, our grass is the greenest. Now, don’t you have something more important to be doing right about now? Don’t worry, I don’t have kids, so I’ll be waiting here when you get back.