Thanksgiving

So my dad says:

"You know I have this friend, (name deleted to protect the less than innocent), whose son is pretty much a dead-beat?"

"Yeah," I say.

"You know, he dropped out of high school, got a whole bunch of tatoos and piercings. He doesn't really have a job. His father had to kick him out of the house. Recently he was arrested for drunk driving and his father had to pay seven thousand dollars to bail him out. He's got no real direction or aspirations to anything."

"Yeah," I say again.

"Well, I was just thinking the other day that I really am thankful that you aren't like that," he says with a pause. "Really."

That's great. Here's my paraphrase of this:

Son, I'm thankful, this Thanksgiving, that you are not an embarrassment. I'm not necessarily thankful for anything you've actually done. At least, not so I would verbalize it. Not for anything that you've done in your career, or any way in which you've been a blessing to your family or to our extended family. Not for any way in which you've brought light into this otherwise dark place. I'm just thankful that you basically don't suck. And that... well, you're kind of a tool. So, keep on floatin' along. Don't make any waves. And, God willing, next year I'll be thankful for nothing again.


NOTE TO READERS: I'm very difficult to please. I have found that every time someone offers me a compliment I find it hard not to think of the things they didn't compliment me on and wonder why. I'm seeking therapy as we speak.


And for those of you who don't know, I carpool with my parents almost every day.

I am thankful that someday this arrangement will end. If no other way, then by death.

Jeeze sometimes I wonder how my children will ever grow up happy with me as a father.