Catch

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I originally wrote this in 2008, and the reason I remembered it today will be obvious.

-Should be writing more shlock soon.

One of the most fascinating and perplexing bonds people can have is the one with their children.

-You love and nurture them, clothe and feed them, teach them everything you know … all in preparation for the day when they will rise up to slay you, and thus rightfully assume the mantle of your vast and mighty empire.

And on this Father's Day of 2008, I was virtually certain my number was up.

I had no regrets ... it is the natural order of things. One day I’ll hear “catch!”, and one of my progeny will hurl a rounded white plastic explosive stuffed with lethal wire and molten rubber for shrapnel –all stitched together with a det cord primer.

It might be a baseball, but I don’t take any chances.

-They are my brood after all.

But LadyTerri and the would-be heirs opted for a rather strange way to commence with the Father’s Day ceremonial rite of passage. None of my entrails were spilled to be danced upon. In fact, to my knowledge it was virtually patricide free.

Since there was no point in pensively waiting for my iPod Touch (as there is no mail delivery on Sunday) we took the really small and loud one -eh, Screechy- to see “Kung Fu Panda” which was unexpectedly great.

Here’s where the teenager -eh, Shiftless, I think- blew it: while I was riveted to what will undoubtedly be regarded as the most important motion picture ever made by humankind ever, he could have crept up on me unawares in the Kung Fu Panda-induced darkness and beat me to death with cinderblocks and pointy sticks.

Nothing.

Later that day I found a used copy of The Best of Phillip K. Dick for $8 on Amazon.com and ordered it. But do you think the credit card was coated with deadly neurotoxins?

Zip.

… At this point, I started to doubt my lazy worthless kids were even trying.

The evening culminated into grilled grub and brews while watching a rather exciting Lakers/Celtics Finals game, and the short, loud one has been shooting me evil looks since he can’t play Lego Star Wars while the game is on.

Here we go, I figured. Screechy will climb up on a small stack of phone books behind the recliner, wrap the controller cable around my neck and swing straight into Destiny ...

... But to my shock and disappointment he started coloring quietly at the kitchen table.

I even tried to make it easy for them by conspicuously removing my bulletproof vest numerous times.

Still the night wore on without a single shot fired.

I cannot fault them, I decide. Perhaps they are simply not yet ready to seize the reins of my sprawling rule. They require more preparation, and it is my sacred duty to provide that until they are.

It was at that exact moment that I was brought a huge bowl of one of my favorite foods: Jalapeno poppers.

So this is the plan, I thought. Slowly poisoning me with a huge heaping deep-fried pile of cholesterol-laden death so my little black heart grinds to a standstill!

Wolfing them down hungrily, I eye them with glowing pride as a single tear rolls down my cheek.

They grow up so fast.

[*sniff*]