By Michael Casey
“Mom where’s my shirt?”
“Where you left it.”
“Mom you have to help me, I have to wear it for school.”
“It’s where you left it.”
“You’re no use, Dad where’s my shirt?”
“What did your mum say?”
“She said it was where I left it.”
“So it must be there then.”
“Dad you’re no use, you’re worse than mum. I wish I was adopted.”
“YOU WERE, “ echo Mum and Dad.
“You two are cruel you’ll give me physiological damage.”
“Then that’ll be something we all have in common,” retort Mum and Dad.
“I’ve found it, I’ve found it,” screams the child overjoyed.
“And where was it?” ask the bored parents.
“Where I left it,” whispers the child sheepishly.
And so it goes on in every home everywhere the world. Kids should have all their things electronically tagged, then with a bleep everything could be revealed. Letters from school arrive at the bottom of school bags, well arrive is a general term, arrive should be replaced with are discovered, just as archaeology discovers things. Three months later you discover what is happening in school, school letters could and are used as bedding for gerbils, sometimes you only know what has happened at school when you are cleaning your kids’ gerbil cage out. Then the terrible thing happens, the gerbil is dead and you have to find an old shoe box and a priest so that the gerbil can be buried with dignity in the garden. Making sure the gerbil is buried deep enough so the local foxes don’t get a takeaway option for their own dining.
“I’ve got nothing to wear.” Now that means you have to visit the charity shop for yourself while you kids spend a fortune on the latest trainers. If you are from a large family you had caste me downs, I did, but this generation don’t want to do that. You tell them tales from your youth and about grandpa and grandma in Ireland and China, in our case, or any other combination for the rest of you reading this. And what do they reply, “that’s the old century,” as if the 2nd half of the 20th century was in the Middle Ages, did we have indoor plumbing then?
“Mum, Dad can I have £20 for a trip.”
“When’s the trip?”
You would have known about the trip if you only bothered to read the paper you used to wrap the gerbil in when you buried the gerbil in the garden, Father Dan in attendance, he’s a family friend and comes around for the dinner, so stifling a smile Dan had blessed the grave. The child promised to come to church more often, and ran away crying.
“Here’s £20 then.”
“But what about refreshments too dad?” the child looks up pleading to you.
“Ask you mum.” you walk away, you had plans for that £20, you were going to have a beer with a school friend, someone you’ve know 40years, now you’ll have to ask him over for a few cans.
“Mum dad said you’d give me a tenner for resfreshments,” says the child.
Mum is all knowing and loves her child, so she follows dad and steals a fiver for her child.
“But that’s only £5,” says the child looking all hard done by.
“Dad’s given you £25, so hop it, or I’ll give you a kick up the backside.”
Dad looks at his empty wallet, he’s high and dry now.
“What can I do now?” he asks all forlornly.
“We could go to bed,” replies mum.
“Sex at you age, you are disgusting,” replies the child.