Time Is On My Side, Yes It Is…

Last night, I took Trey out for a brief period of Boy’s Time. We called up my father, whom Trey calls ‘Pops’ and headed out for pizza. The boy loves pizza. He adores it to the point that I remain convinced that some strange and wonderful aspect of toddler physiology exists that allows their small bodies to metabolize foods like pizza and chicken nuggets directly into crack cocaine. Seriously, certain foods have a clear and apparent intoxicating effect on Trey that I not only fail to comprehend, but that makes me extremely and irreversibly jealous.

When he’s sitting there with a giant grin on his marinara-stained face, I struggle to try and remember when anything could make me that happy. Then, as he starts bobbing his head and dancing to unheard music as he giggles at unseen hilarities, I know that childhood is a wonderful place that we all want to get back to in some small way. Unfortunately, whenever we try to go back and revisit the hallowed halls of our youth, we find that the exits have all been fitted with the one-way wrought iron turnstile monstrosities of the sort you find in subways. You can never go back there again.

The good news for parents, however, is that you get a chance to peer through the tyranny of time to peek between the bars of the exit and glimpse the earlier days of life every time you watch your child. Sometimes, you can even get a day-trip Visitor’s Pass to go inside and run around the crazy fields of excitement and wonder, and all you need do is play with your children. Sure, the pass expires at bedtime and you’re deported by midnight, but you know there’s always tomorrow. Well, at least until there isn’t.

Brittany never wants Trey to grow up. She’d be perfectly happy if Science found out that pizza stunts your growth, and her little boy would always be a little boy. She doesn’t want to think about his first bike ride sans training wheels, or the first time he won’t let her kiss him in public. The milestones of life should just go on without him and happen to someone else, as far as she’s concerned. The thought of Trey’s first date and first awkward, groping makeout sessions are the stuff of nightmarish legend for her. The first time he wants to borrow the car and then comes home late, or the first time she looks under his mattress and finds a girlie magazine (or a guy magazine – we don’t judge) are looked upon by her as hateful tales spun by wicked old women who are bitter and mad at the world, simply because their own children had the nerve to grow up.

Everyone needs to grow up, because Peter Pan?
A little creepy…

As for me, I’m having too much fun now to worry about later. And, whenever later comes, I plan to be having just as much fun then – well, at least up to the point where Trey no longer thinks I’m cool, or when he borrows my flying car (this will be in the future, after all) and forgets to refill its Flux Capacitor. That’s so damn annoying!

We’ll keep getting into fights about it, and he’ll keep telling me that I need to buy a Mr. Fusion like all his friends have, but then I’ll want to teach him the value of a dollar and insist that, if he wants to throw garbage into a fusion reactor like his friends, he’ll just have to pay for it himself. In the meantime, I’ll expect him to refill the plutonium if he’s going to use the car, just like I used to have to do! (Well, except we called it gasoline back then. But, since this argument with Trey happens after I get old and crazy and start believing that reality is, in fact, a peculiar amalgam of 1980s Spielberg movies, we’ll stick with the Back To The Future imagery for now.)

On our way home last night, after Trey took me on a whirlwind tour of the manic emotional landscape of an exhausted toddler when he went from euphoric to cranky and back down to hyperkinetic silliness in zero-point-two seconds, we stopped at the grocery store. I had to run in for a couple of things, so we piled out of the car and walked through the store’s automatic doors. (Trey, I suspect, prefers to think of these magically opening portals as the eighth wonder of the world.) He declined the offer of a buggy, for preference of being carried.

Automatic doors make me feel like a Jedi.

It should be noted here that I firmly believe that Trey’s molecular density is made greater by the rays from the Earth’s yellow sun. This should eventually grant him super strength and the ability to shoot laser beams from his eyes, but for now the only effect seems to be that his specific gravity has been rendered roughly equal to that of lead. I’ve never actually seen him alone in a body of water deep enough to sink in, but I’ve no doubt that he’d go right to the bottom. In short, he’s heavy – not overweight or anything, just very, very heavy…hence the density theory.

After carrying his preternaturally heavy mass around the store, we go to check out with our handful of items. We’re forced to use the U-Scan line, which is backed up to the point of absurdity due to the complete and overwhelming stupidity of the people using it. One of the scanners is offline, and the three others are being used by people who should have their U-Scan licenses revoked. One woman was trying to scan her produce by moving one carrot at a time across an uncaring scanner that wasn’t impressed with its lack of a barcode.

Anyway, while we’re waiting for our turn at the self-checkout for the deeply stupid, a line forms behind us. Immediately behind us are two cute, young girls in either their late teens or early twenties. Trey is a curiously strong chick magnet, and these girls couldn’t stop talking about him. I pretended not to hear them, but he didn’t bother with such polite niceties. Instead, he flirted.

He started by busting out with a little Mick Jagger as he sang his (current) favorite line from his (current) favorite song, “Beast of Burden”. He was holding on to my neck and coquettishly grinning at the young ladies as he sang, “Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girls!” Of course, it comes out much cuter in actual Trey dialect, where the Ts in “pretty” are over-emphasized and where “girls” comes out more like, “gruuuuaawwwls!” At some point, though, I guess the girls stopped smiling at him, because he grabbed my face and twisted my head around to point at one of them and yell, “Ewww! It’s YUCKY!”

Ah, the joys of being a toddler! You get to flirt and tease and ridicule, and all of it is cute. The scary thing about Trey is that he is fully aware – and in command of – his cuteness. He can turn it on or off at will, and disarm you with a single smile. It’s a great skill to have, especially for times like late last night, when I heard him out of bed and playing with his toys. I opened to door to scold him, but before I knew what was happening, I’d tucked him back in bed, exchanged hugs and kisses, and brought him a new packet of fruit chews he calls “SpongeBob Candy”. I knew that I was supposed to get mad and fuss at him, it’s just that at some point after opening his door, I somehow became his doting man-slave. I am unsure as to how he does this, but I do know with an unwavering and sagacious clarity that it involves the awesome and terrifying power of…The Cuteness!

Like an ancient and mysterious Kung Fu master, Trey misdirects you with The Cuteness before striking with furious speed and deadly accuracy!

Want some books? 'Course ya do!

NOTE:  I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.

I'll take care of it.

Humor | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?

Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?

If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.

You're welcome.

Short Stories
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The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.

Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.

Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.

Always get back up.

Gaming | Nonfiction
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This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.

The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.

Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.

If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.

I'll try to not be boring.

Horror
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What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.

What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.

You've been warned.